


Always Lose-Lose

by I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Self-Esteem Issues, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Geraskier, Hurt Eventual Comfort, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier & Yennefer friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Physical Torture, Pining, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Psychological Torture, Swearing, Whump, and so does Ciri, but it takes like forever, captured Jaskier, how do I tag without spoiling anything??, like over 2 decades woth of slowburn, slowburn, the other witchers show up eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 125,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24060076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee/pseuds/I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee
Summary: For years Geralt and Jaskier travel together. What starts out as Geralt being annoyed by the bard who insists on follwing him turns into something more as the years go by.But in the midst of the war Nilfgaard's wages on the rest of the continent, Jaskier is captured to tell them where Geralt is. It's either betray Geralt or save himself.Will he be able to make the right choice? Or is it already too late for him to choose?And what exactly has lead to Jaskier getting caught in the first place?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 323
Kudos: 503





	1. Times of Dread

**Author's Note:**

> Important:  
> This story has two timelines (I kind of tried to mimick the Netflix show and the short-story books). The first part of each chapter is Jaskier's pov from when he gets kidnapped. The second part is always Geralt's pov and deals with the years leading up to Jaskier's timeline. Geralt's part always has a title that shows the stage of their relationship. So if you don't want to be confused by when exactly stuff happens for him, you should read that title.  
> That structure is a bit experimental for me and I'm not sure if I made the right choice, but oh well it's too late now.  
> Construcitve critisism is always welcome. I've written the entire story already and I probably won't make any major changes to what I've written, but I will try my best to listen to you, for when I edit.  
> I hope you enjoy the story :)
> 
> Love, me

** Times of dread  **

The tavern was quieter than it had any right to be.  
Had anyone told the barkeep two years ago that there would come a time when no loud laughs would fill his tavern, he would have kicked them out for the audacity.  
Had he been told there would be no drunken brawls, he would have said “I pray for the day to come. But it is unlikely”. 

Now though, he would pay good money for the brawls and rowdy laughter to return. There was a sense of wrongness to a quiet tavern.  
It was by no means completely silent, of course. But the conversations were hushed and accompanied by shifting eyes, always suspicious of being listened in by the wrong people. The tension that accompanied the untrusting looks, hunched shoulders and low voices of the patrons hung thickly in the air, tense as a bow string right before an arrow was released. Still, no one dared to start a fight.  
No one was brave or stupid enough to face the danger that came with attracting attention. 

That is, no one but the bard whose voice began flying through the room, weaving its way through the quiet.  
It wasn’t a melody meant to be sung in silence; it was supposed to almost get drowned by laughter and shouting. It sounded strange in these times. And yet it was the only thing that truly belonged in this tavern. 

People shot the bard disbelieving looks. One man even pulled his hood further into his face and left the tavern. The bard earned the occasional scoff and a whispered “What does he think he’s doing? This is no time for happy songs”, “it is dangerous. He should stop, if he knows what’s good for him”. 

And these words were exactly the reason why Jaskier sang even louder, filled his voice with even more cheer. If there ever was a time in which happy songs were needed, it was now. 

This certainly wasn’t the first tough crowd, he’d had to face in recent years. It would only be a matter of time until he would be performing for an empty room.  
So he put as much effort and passion into each performance as he could. It was nothing compared to singing for an audience that wanted to be entertained and yet Jaskier relished their reaction equally, if not more.  
It always filled him with a sense of pride seeing how people would be shocked by his audacity to sing. He would counter the well-meant suggestions that he should stop his performance with a charming smile and an even merrier tune. The room would quiet down even more. The murmurs would stop until he and his lute were the only sounds filling the tavern. And then, when he was lucky, someone would clap along. Maybe someone would hum the familiar melody. Maybe they would smile. Sometimes, at least Jaskier hoped so, people would be able to forget the looming threat that hung over the land as long as his song carried on. 

He could almost taste the tension ebbing away. When his song ended and he swept down in a low bow, he even heard some applause and saw some smiles.  
He knew this was all the payment he was to expect these days. No one could spare a crown for some bard, no matter how much he lifted their spirits. At the end of the day, they needed the money themselves. But they also needed the little hope for better times Jaskier could provide them.  
So he played on. Song after song. He pranced through the room, winking and enjoying every moment of it. 

His performance came to an abrupt halt, when the doors were thrown open with so much force that they banged against the wall. The crashing sound was such a contrast to the merry song and the silence before, that Jaskier misplaced his fingers, creating a dissonant chord that ended his songs.  
They would have been all for naught now anyway. No one would be fooled into thinking everything was alright, when the reason they were afraid was standing right in front of them. 

The unmistakable black of Nilfgaard clashed against Jaskier’s colourful clothes, as they filed towards him. Among them was the man who had left his performance earlier. He pointed a finger at him as if anyone could miss him, standing out like a sore thumb. 

“This is him. This is the bard!” 

Jaskier backed away, as two soldiers seized him and took away his lute. 

“Careful with that!,” he yelled reflexively.  
Probably not his finest moment, yelling at Nilfgaardian soldiers, but this lute was precious to him. 

“I believe you have other things to worry about, bard,” one of the soldiers sneered, the voice marking her as a woman. 

Jaskier had to agree. He knew singing those kinds of songs - some of which could technically be considered anti-Nilfgaard propaganda - would get him in trouble someday.  
Up until know he had always been able to slip away from the soldiers that almost seemed like they had targeted him specifically, at the last moment. In all honesty, he was surprised he had made it this far. 

Still he struggled, as the soldiers tried to drag him out of the tavern. He had the irrational thought that as long as he was in there, surrounded by people, he would be save.  
But while the people had enjoyed his songs, they made no move to help him. It was clear that fear had seized them once again, just as the soldiers had Jaskier. No one even dared to try and sneak away, too afraid to go noticed and taken in as well. They all just sat frozen, looking as inconspicuous as possible.  
Jaskier had no friends here.  
No one did. Not anymore. 

So he did what he always did. He talked.

“Really, can’t a bard enjoy a nice evening performing? I assure you gentlemen and ladies that there is absolutely nothing wrong with some entertainment. I know that you are just doing your job here, but so am I.”  
It fell on deaf ears. Jaskier had not expected differently. He didn’t cease struggling in the iron hard grip on his arms though.  
“If you want to make a trade, I could sing for you. A private evening of song and enjoyment.”

This made the female soldier holding him sneer. “Oh, you will sing, alright. But I doubt it will be just one evening. Now shut up, before we gag you.” 

He swallowed. “Honestly, I would appreciate if you-“

He was cut off by a glove being violently shoved into his mouth. He gaged around it. A rough shove in the back made him stumble forward. The soldiers used his momentum to drag him out of the tavern.  
He could see faces peeking through windows, looking on in horror as a tall figure in black armour, clearly a commander of sorts, slowly walked towards Jaskier. He lifted his hand and grabbed the bard’s chin, turning his face around while inspecting him as if he was a sheep a farmer intended to buy. 

“So you are the famous bard? I have to say I expected something more exiting. Look at you, worn out clothes, uninspired songs. The time away from him really hasn’t done you any good, has it?” 

Jaskier glowered at him. He tried to throw insults at him, that were thankfully muffled by the gag. The meaning behind his grunts was still clear though. 

All air was suddenly pushed out of Jaskier’s lungs as he was punched in the gut.  
His surprised yelp was stifled by the cloth in his mouth and he toppled over. The only reason he didn’t fall was because he was held upright by the two soldiers.  
He made a wheezing sound. He couldn’t breathe. His eyes went wide as he tried to get the much needed air through his nose. It wasn’t enough. Tears stung in his eyes.  
Finally, one of the soldiers pulled the glove out of Jaskier’s mouth and dropped it with a disgusted face. Spit was dripping down Jaskier’s chin, but at least now he could gasp for air properly.

The man who had punched him stood up straight and turned around. His voice was raised as he spoke to the people who were still watching with barely concealed terror. 

“This is what happens to people who help those conspiring against Nilfgaard. Do not follow his example if you don’t want to end up like him.” 

He lowered his voice to a normal value. “Take him away. It’s taken us long enough already. Cahir will be wanting to hear the good news as soon as possible.”

He turned to leave as another voice behind them spoke up. 

“Wait, please!” 

The commander stopped. Jaskier could almost see the irritation coming of him in waves.  
The bard strained his neck to see who dared speak up against the Nilfgaardian. It was the barkeep.

“He’s just a bard. He was only singing in my tavern. It’s been so long since we’ve had music in there. Look at him, he didn’t know he was doing anything wrong. He won’t do it again.” 

As far as defences went, this one was really weak. But it was a defence nonetheless.  
Jaskier flashed him a grateful smile, though he couldn’t help but think that the man was wrong on so many levels.  
He had most certainly known that he’d get in trouble. And he would without a doubt do it again.

Still, he appreciated the words. It was good to know that there were still people out there standing up for their beliefs. Although, he desperately hoped that this man would not follow his example of not knowing when to shut up. 

Slowly the commander turned around and with long measured steps walked far to close into the barkeeps personal space. The discomfort was obvious on the poor man’s face. And yet, he stood his ground.

“What’s your name?”

He swallowed. Jaskier swore he could see a beat of sweat make its way down the man’s face. His voice quivered as he answered.

“H-Henryk.”

“You would like to help this bard, Henryk?”

He came even closer, until Henryk had to tilt his head back to look him in the face as he nodded hesitantly.

“How noble of you. If you really want to help him, get out the message about what happened here today. Make sure everyone knows that we have the witcher’s bard.” He made a pause. “Or you can remain here in our way and have your tavern razed to the ground. It’s your choice. I suggest you make it quickly.”

Jaskier spoke up. He couldn’t let this man think he would let Jaskier down by saving his own life. Standing up for him was already more than Jaskier ever could have hoped for. 

“That is a wonderful idea! What bard wouldn’t like his tale to be known across the continent? I really appreciate it.”

Henryk gave him a grateful and apologetic nod. A farewell.  
Jaskier watched as he hurried back towards his tavern, before he turned back to the commander.

“I am afraid though that you’ve got the wrong man. I am very much my own bard. And I don’t know any witchers.”

The commander ignored his protest as he gave his soldiers a sign to move on.  
Jaskier was pushed forward again, stumbling over his own feet. As he regained his footing, the soldier who had taken of his glove to stuff Jaskier’s mouth before, turned to him. 

“Let me give you some advice, bard. You might want to reconsider lying. One way or another, you will give us the information we want. It’s only a question of how many of your bones will be unbroken when you do.”

Jaskier wasn’t sure whether that was a warning or a threat. Regardless of what it was, he decided it was best to stay quiet for once.  
He was very fond of his unbroken bones and he would like to keep them that way for as long as possible.

It seemed that it wasn’t necessary for him to speak up anyway. The other soldier, who had a neatly cut beard, did it for him, though his words were addressed to his female counterpart. 

“Do you think it was wise to take him in this publically? What if the witcher-“

“Are you questioning direct orders?”

“Of course not,” the solider said hastily with a gravelly voice. “But I thought we were just supposed to apprehend him so he can be questioned. I don’t see how attracting attention will be helpful.”

“Well, from what we’ve seen today, he’s a bit on the stupid side, isn’t he? And apparently he has no regards for his own life when the witcher is involved. So in case he decides to be stubborn and doesn’t tell us how to find him, we can make sure the witcher comes to us instead to save his precious little songbird.” 

She sneered and spit in Jaskier’s face. He grimaced and tried with moderate success wipe it off. It proved difficult without being able to use his arms.  
The soldier didn’t pay him any mind. Her voice was sharp and unforgiving when she added  
“But don’t expect your witcher will get very far. You’ll never see him again.”

** One month into their acquaintance **

It was a cool evening. Rain drizzled onto Geralt as he rode through the forest. He had his hood pulled over his head in a meagre attempt to shield himself from the rain.  
Not that it did him any good. He was already soaked to the bone from his fight. A fucking Drowner nest. He could feel the corpses he had packed onto Roach bump into his legs every once in a while. 

He left the forest behind him quickly. He wasn’t keen on another monster attack right now. Quickly, he found the road he had taken on his way here.  
He rode in silence. Of course he did. There was no one to talk to, except Roach. And she already had to carry the Drowners and Geralt. He preferred the silence anyway. 

It was broken though, when a voice called out to him. 

“Hey, wait!” 

He twisted in the saddle, but didn’t slow his horse. A man with a two-day-beard was running up to him. 

“Are you going to Lyria?”

“Hmmm.” 

Where else would he be going? This road only led there. 

“So am I. I was wondering, do you have space for one more person on that horse of yours? It’s getting late and it’s raining.” As if Geralt hadn’t noticed. “And it would be greatly appreciated if I could ride with you.”

Geralt didn’t answer. It didn’t dishearten the man. He kept running, but stopped short when he saw for himself that the space on Roach was occupied. 

“Oh sweet Melitele. What is _that_?”

“Drowners.” 

Disgust. The beginning of fear. A whole lot of regret. The man was reeking of it.  
Geralt averted his face in hopes of escaping the smell. It didn’t work.

“And you killed them all yourself? You…you’re a witcher.” 

“I work alone. And yes. I am.”

“So sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll let you ride in peace.”

Geralt didn’t turn to look, but he heard the man slow down, letting himself fall back deliberately; Putting more space between him and the mutant he would do his best to avoid. 

What a surprise.  
There were only a few people who were stupid enough to keep talking to him after they found out who and what he was. Most of them only bothered because of a contract. 

And then there had been the bard. He hadn’t just stuck around to talk. He had kept on chattering about anything and everything. As if he hadn’t been aware that he was close to a man who could kill him in a moment’s notice if he wanted to. 

Sometimes Geralt wondered what had become of him.  
Maybe his non-existent self-preservation instinct had landed him in trouble. Or he was still prancing around in taverns, talking to people he had no business talking to. 

Either way, Geralt wouldn’t find out. The chances that they would meet ever again were slim. And even if they did, he doubted the bard would bother him again. He’d gotten what he had wanted after all.  
He’s had his adventure, he got his song and he got a glimpse at how cruel and unforgiving the world could be. He’d be mad to approach him again. 

And what a blessing that was.  
Despite not wanting his company, Geralt had felt responsible for him. He could do well without having to look after stupid bards who let their mouths run without thinking. Who tried to touch Roach. Who were nothing but loud and obnoxious and all in all the exact opposite of “silent backup”.  
So it certainly was better, if they never crossed paths again. The bard could brag about having survived travelling with a witcher and Geralt could have his silence.

He reached the city and brought the Drowners to the mayor.  
He left with his gold. Less than he had hoped for, but it would last him a while.  
He went to an inn to spend the night and clean himself of the monster remnants that were stuck on him. 

As he got closer, he heard music. Naturally, there would be songs sung in the pub-room.  
He entered and was hit by the typical racket: Obnoxious laughter, drunken arguments.  
And that song. _That damn_ song.  
He’s heard it far too many times over the last month. He hadn’t believed his bard when he had said it would make him famous. But apparently it had.  
It was so famous, apparently that folks didn’t even need the bard’s encouragement or presence to sing it, for he was nowhere in sight. The people were singing it on their own. They were obviously drunk or they wouldn’t continue singing it when they saw him.  
Geralt glowered at them. Some voices trailed of uncertainly.  
He paid for his room and left the patrons to their godawful singing. If he never heard that song again it would be too soon. 

The next morning, he left early.  
He hadn’t been approached with a new contract and he wasn’t keen on staying here any longer than he had to. Maybe he would find more work in the next town. 

He went to the stables to get Roach, when something dropped in his peripheral vision.  
Out of reflex, his hand inched to his swords.  
The thing that had fallen let out a string of curses. Geralt let his hand sink back down.  
The man that had just fallen down after trying to climb out of a window was frantically searching for something on the ground. It was still too dark to see for the human, but Geralt saw easily what he was looking for. 

“Your trousers are in the bush next to you.”

The half-naked man whirled around. He was apparently stuck deciding between making up excuses and putting on his clothes.  
Geralt didn’t care to find out which one he would choose. He went past him and got Roach out of her box. 

That’s when the man recognized him. 

“Geralt?” 

Geralt sighed. “Bard.” 

“What are you doing here? Preparing for another daring adventure? Rescuing young maidens?”

He didn’t answer. The bard’s dramatic tone and gestures were undercut by him still being mostly naked. He struggled to get his clothes on and smiled. 

“May I embark on another epic quest with you?”

“You don’t seem to have been bored without a quest.”  
Geralt looked pointedly at the window, from which he could hear the faint voices of a couple arguing. 

Jaskier laughed. “No need to judge me. You’ve had your adventures and I had mine. But how about we make your adventures ours?” 

“No.”

The voices grew louder. Even Jaskier could hear them now. He was beginning to look nervous. 

“Listen, I might have to leave soon-“

The man’s voice from the window cut him off. “If I find that bastard, I will rip his head off!”

“Alright, I most definitely have to leave the city _right now_.”

“And you decided you’d be safer with me?”

The bard smiled. “Naturally.” 

Geralt scowled when the bard tried to pet Roach and nearly had his fingers bitten off.

“You didn’t really think you had seen the last of me, did you? I assure you you are not getting rid of me that easily.”

Geralt was afraid that the bard was going to keep his word.


	2. You Will See

**You Will See**

Jaskier had thought the gag had been bad. Denying a bard his power of speech was just cruel irony. But even he had to admit that the gag had been something of an unwanted help for him.  
Being rid of it now gave him far too much freedom to insult his captors. 

“Really, it takes two of you to hold a bard with no combat training? How do you suspect to be winning the war when you think _I_ am that much of a challenge?”

“Shut up,” the female soldier snarled and tightened her grip on him. “You are not even close to being a challenge. But you are too important to risk losing.”

“I’m important to you? Why darling you say the sweetest things.”

It was no wonder that it didn’t take long until another glove was sacrificed to keep his mouth shut. It was bad. But it could have been worse. 

And it came worse, because of course it would.  
Having his hands restrained by the two soldiers already didn’t allow him to accompany his words with the fitting gestures, but it was still a reflex he couldn’t supress. He was a performer after all. Using his hands while speaking was second nature to him.  
Apparently the soldiers restraining him didn’t agree with their necessity. 

“Stop struggling!” 

The woman who had given up both of her gloves by now grabbed his hands roughly. Her grip around his wrist was painfully tight and Jaskier would have let out a groan, had it not been for the gag. With practiced movements the soldier bound his hands together. The thin cord cut into his wrists and he could already feel the blood building up in his fingertips. It wouldn’t be long until he lost all feeling in them. The soldier secured the bind with a knot. 

“There, that should keep him from moving about.” 

Again, Jaskier was strangely thankful for the gag. He was certain that had he been able to speak, he couldn’t have resisted the urge to make an innuendo about where the woman had learned to restrain someone like this. 

“Why not blind him as well, just for good measure?,” Jaskier heard the other soldier say. 

He sounded exasperated and the sarcasm in his voice was impossible to miss.  
Or so Jaskier thought. The woman contemplated his words for a moment, before pulling out a strap of fabric. Why was she keeping that with her? It looked like she was over-prepared to make a prisoner as uncomfortable or an adventurous lover as pleased as possible.  
Unfortunately, the former seemed to be the case. 

His vision blackened as the blindfold was secured around his head. Some of his hair got tucked into the knot. He winced. The movement immediately made the knot tug on his hair even more. 

“Was that really necessary?” All sarcasm has left the man’s gravelly voice. 

“Questioning again? If this makes the little shit be more compliant then yes, it is necessary.”

Jaskier focussed on his hearing. As a musician he was used to picking up auditory cues, but having to rely on his ears as the only way to orient himself proved rather difficult.  
He couldn’t hear the stones he would trip over. Couldn’t hear the direction they were going. With the townspeople being as scared as they were, staying at home and being as quiet as possible, it was impossible to tell whether they were even still in the town of if they’ve left it behind them a while ago.  
The soldiers who held him had fallen silent as well. He didn’t know how long he’d stumbled along with them, trying to keep up with their long strides. He lost count of how often they had to steady him for his lack of balance. He had no indication where they were going whatsoever. 

Until he heard faint stomping and whinnying.  
The Nilfaardians came to a halt. Jaskier assumed they were readying the horses that someone must have kept here, waiting for them. He heard voices, but couldn’t make out what was being said. They probably debated who would have the displeasure to share a horse with him.  
At least he hoped he would get to share a horse. As much as he wasn’t keen on having his back pressed against the chest of one of these soldiers, an arm around his waist to secure him, he dreaded even more having to walk next to the horses. His feet were already sore from tripping so many times. 

To his admittedly small relief, someone dragged him towards the sound of the animals.  
He felt absolutely useless as he was lifted into the air. He tried to at least shuffle his legs to help getting him into a sitting position, but a firm hand stopped him.  
It took him a moment to realize why his efforts were halted. He was not supposed to sit on the horse. He was to lie on his belly, thrown over the horse as if he was some back of potatoes.  
His face burned in shame. They really didn’t leave him any dignity. 

The ride must have been the most uncomfortable one he’s ever had. Without being able to shift into a better position or hold onto anything properly, he was jostled around with every unevenness of the horse’s trot. Occasionally, a hand on his back would brace him, but that wasn’t all that helpful.  
But even more than the discomfort his body had to endure, his dignity had to suffer. Come the morning, his bruised ego would surely match his body after this ride. He tried to ground himself in something to distract him, anything would do.  
But he didn’t have many options for what to focus on. The soldiers rode in stern silence. The only sound came from the falling hooves. The rhythmical patter was almost like the beat to a song. Too fast and choppy to be a lullaby. And yet for the lack of a better option, the rhythm lulled his mind to sleep, even if his body could find no rest. 

They must have been riding for the better half of the day, for the wind hitting Jaskier’s face was growing colder steadily.  
He felt the rhythm of the horse change as it slowed down and eventually came to a halt.  
He flinched, when hands unexpectedly took hold of him and heaved him off of the horse’s back. 

It was a relief to finally feel the ground beneath his feet again, but his legs gave out under him almost instantly.  
It was no wonder they had fallen asleep with the position he’d been in for what must have been hours.  
Before he could hit the ground though, unable to catch himself with his hands still bound, someone steadied him. He was held upright until the feeling returned to his legs.  
Once they worked again properly, he was led a few paces away from the horses, while relying heavily on whoever guided him for balance.  
Insistent hands on his shoulders pushed him down. He sank down on what felt like something wooden. Maybe a root? A log?

Finally, the blindfold was removed. He blinked against the sudden light. It wasn’t as bright as he had expected, clearly bordering on evening already, but it was still enough to sting a bit after the blackness of the blindfold. 

He frantically looked around. A vain attempt to figure out where he was. The only answer he could come up with was that he was in serious trouble.  
He was surrounded by trees, no sign of possible rescue in sight.  
On the contrary. The clearing was full of soldiers donning black armour; far more than had been present in the town. They were all busy building tents and taking care of their horses.  
Maybe, if he was lucky, he could sneak away while they were distracted setting up camp or when it finally became dark. 

“I wouldn’t suggest running. You wouldn’t get far.” 

His eyes fell on the man who had spoken. He was sitting cross-legged next to Jaskier on the ground. But Jaskier wasn’t fooled by the relaxed pose. It was clear that the soldier would be able to draw his sword faster than Jaskier could blink, should he decide to do anything stupid.  
He looked more closely at the man who had removed his blindfold just now. His trimmed beard and the gravelly voice revealed him as one of the soldiers who had grabbed him in the tavern. It was the same soldier that had sarcastically suggested putting on the blindfold in the first place.  
Jaskier narrowed his eyes. His glare was ignored. 

“I am going to remove the gag now. You would do good to watch your mouth or someone less patient than me will put it back. Do you understand?”

Jaskier nodded reluctantly. The soldier removed the glove, considerably gentler than the other glove had been ripped out of his mouth.  
Immediately, Jaskier began to cough. The taste of the fabric lingered on his tongue. The soldier held out a flask for him. 

“Here drink this. I imagine you need it.” 

And oh, was he right.  
His throat was dry and he desperately had to get the feel of the fabric out of his mouth. The soldier seemed reluctant to let go of the flask though. His hands lingered around it, like a parent who believed their child unable to drink on their own.  
Jaskier firmly took it into his own hands. After stumbling around like a fool and being forced to lie on the horse like an object, he was desperate to maintain at least some of his pride.  
Jaskier eagerly took big gulps of the water. It proved difficult to hold the flask properly with his bound hands and he spilt most of it over his chin. But it was still better than nothing. His dignity had already been dealt blows, so what’s a bit more embarrassment?  
Oh, who was he fooling, he felt his face go red in shame. He was a bard! Even if he wasn’t in control, he still should at least look the part.  
But it seemed like that wasn’t an option now.

“Easy there,” the soldier said and carefully took the flask away from him to put it back into the bag lying next to him. 

He regarded the bard for a second silently, before he took hold of his hands and loosened the knot a bit.  
It wasn’t much, but Jaskier could feel the blood rush through his hands again. He twisted his hands to sooth the uncomfortable throbbing in his wrists.  
It didn’t really help, but at least he had some control and feeling of his hands back. 

“I can’t take off your binds completely, of course. That would be too much of a risk, you understand.”

Jaskier looked back at the solider. He had a sincere expression on his face. 

“Thank you.” He bit his lip. He really didn’t want to be civil to his captor, but he had just helped him, even if it was just a small kindness. “Why are you doing this?”

The soldier gave him a lopsided smile. “Because as long as I am here with you, looking busy, I don’t have to help set up camp.” 

Jaskier snorted and a smile tugged at his lips despite himself. “A noble reason, truly.”

The smile diminished slightly and the soldier gave Jaskier a serious look.  
“But I’m also doing this to give you a warning. I don’t know if you are aware, but you are a war prisoner. Quips and insults won’t get you any favours. Cooperating will. There are not many others who share my idea of mutual civility, but if you show them that you are willing to tell them what they need to know, you might get treated better.”

“And let me guess, I will be send home with flowers and nice wine, able to live happily for the rest of my days.”

The soldier sighed. “This is exactly what I mean. You seem to think this is all a joke; that someone will come in and safe you, while you sass your guards. But I am talking about torture. If you do what we say, you will still be a prisoner, but you will live. I don’t think the other option would be that kind. Believe me, cooperating is the lesser evil.” 

Jaskier swallowed. Torture? He had known he wasn’t in a good situation, but this was a bit exaggerated, surely?  
He thought of something he had heard someone say in passing once, as he had fled a city that was being invaded. ‘Nilfaard doesn’t take prisoners.’

“I have done nothing wrong,” he said, but he knew he was grasping at straws. 

“No. You probably haven’t. But your friend has. It is noble of you to stay loyal to him, but in this case it could just as well be your death sentence. So again, I implore you: Make the right choice.”

Jaskier stared at him.  
Before he could come up with an answer, a shadow fell over him. The now glove-less soldier was scowling at her comrade, pushing her short blond hair out of her face before crossing her arms. 

“Stop coddling him. You are here to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“That is exactly what I am doing.” The soldier sitting next to Jaskier tensed noticeably. “Do you honestly believe that pushing him around and treating him like shit will get him to tell us anything? It’s only in everyone’s best interest if he –“

“It doesn’t matter what’s in his best interest. He is a prisoner and he should be treated as such.”

She turned to Jaskier and fixed him with an icy stare. Jaskier was surprised to see that caramel coloured eyes could be that cold. 

“Don’t get too comfortable. As soon as we’re with Cahir, you won’t enjoy your time half as much as this idiot would have you believe. So you better get used to it already. You will tell Cahir what he wants to know and that’s it.” 

She lowered herself until she was on Jaskier’s eye level. She leaned forward. The bard refused to back away, though his heart was racing. 

The soldier snarled. “No matter how stubborn you are, no matter how much you try to protect your dear friend, you can’t save the witcher. You can’t save yourself. Sooner or later, you will break. You have no choice in this. The only decision you have, is by how much pain your stay will be accompanied.”

Cold dread took hold of him, clawed at his heart.  
He had known that he wouldn’t be treated kindly, of course. These were Nilfgaardians after all. It was a wonder he had gotten caught by a battalion who had at least one likable man with them.  
But he hadn’t realized just how real this was.  
His breath hitched at the thought of what they could do to him. The occasional punch he had caught in a tavern brawl did not prepare him for whatever awaited him now.  
He only hoped he would endure long enough to… to what?  
The soldier was right. He couldn’t save himself and she had said it herself, the witcher wouldn’t save him either.  
He was alone. Betraying him as the only way to escape the impending pain. But he couldn’t.  
How could he, when he –

Jaskier was shaken from his thoughts by a sharp sting on his cheek.  
He gasped and lifted his bound hands to touch his face, where the grim soldier had just backhanded him. 

“As a little taste of what’s to come. Or maybe you would like to tell us already where he is?”

Jaskier’s mind raced. What was he supposed to say? Would they even believe him if he told them the truth? That he didn’t know where the witcher was? Or should he just make something up? 

“I don’t know any witchers.”

The woman gave a barking laugh and turned to her comrade. “Do you hear that? The little shit thinks he can lie to us. That’s what your softness gets us.”

She stopped laughing abruptly and grabbed Jaskier’s collar. Without thinking, he shut his eyes tightly, bracing himself for a punch. It never came. Instead he was dropped back on the ground. 

“Look at him. He’s already scared shitless. He won’t last a day with Cahir.”

She threw Jaskier another dirty look that the bard returned, before leaving them, presumably to get her tent set up. 

The remaining soldier’s jaw was tightly set. He too stared after the retreating soldier. His eyes were so fixed on her that Jaskier was beginning to think he had forgotten that he was actually supposed to watch his prisoner. 

Carefully he shifted on the ground. If he was smart about this, he might be able to make a run for it.  
He was just lifting himself up slightly, when a hand on his arm stopped him. The soldier still didn’t look at him, but Jaskier could see his eyes going hard. 

“You shouldn’t lie. With us, all you get is a little threat and a warning punch, but don’t think that’s all you will get from Cahir.”

Jaskier stammered. “I-I was telling the truth. I swear I have no idea who you’re looking for.”

“Oh cut it out. Everyone here knows that you and the witcher were friends. Hell, everyone _on the continent_ knows. If you don’t want to tell me, fine. I’m not here to interrogate you. It is my job to bring you to Cahir.”

Jaskier felt a bit of the tension leave him. But the soldier continued. 

“But here’s the thing. You wouldn’t be a good friend if you betrayed him after the first sign of trouble. I understand that. But don’t you think he would want you to be safe? If he is worth being your friend, he should not want you to get hurt, don’t you agree?”  
He didn’t give Jaskier time to answer. Not that he knew what to say to that anyway.  
“He means a lot to you, but he shouldn’t mean more than your own life.”

Jaskier snorted. “It doesn’t seem like your people agree with that. If I understand correctly, you very much think that he is more important than my life.”

“He is. For us. For the war. But you should not sacrifice yourself for him. You have something to lose. We don’t. If the plan works, you either tell us where he is or you don’t and die. If Cahir is correct, and he usually is, the witcher will come for you, no matter if you cooperate or not. We don’t lose. But you will either way. You just have to be sure about what the lesser evil is for you.” 

**Two years into their friendship**

“What do you mean you don’t hunt bears? They are beasts, are they not?” 

Geralt grunted and put his ale down. “They are animals. I hunt monsters.”

This didn’t seem to put out the woman, that bordered on being old, at all.  
Geralt sighed inwardly. They had been in the tavern for an hour.  
Jaskier was merrily prancing around, playing his songs, but for once Geralt attracted more attention.  
Unfortunately.  
He was looking for a new contract, but this was already the fifth person he had to turn down.  
Who hired a witcher to hunt a bear anyway? This whole fucking town, it seemed. 

The woman continued. “I tell you, I have lived long enough to know how a bear behaves. And this one _is_ a monster.” 

Geralt hadn’t planned on answering. Nonetheless, he was saved from the dragging conversation.  
Another, decidedly younger woman with blond hair took the seat right between them. 

“Leave him be, Marta. I’m sure he has better things to do than go look for a wild animal.”

“A wild animal that is responsible for six men being injured.” Marta pointed an accusatory finger in her face. “You know as well as I do that this beast is dangerous.” 

The young woman rolled her eyes and pushed the finger away.  
“I believe I know animals better than you do. As far as I know, you’ve not once set foot into the forest.” 

“And as long as that beast is not dead, I never shall. We would all be safer if we were rid of it once and for all.” 

Geralt turned away from the conversation.  
Why couldn’t he just drink his ale in peace?  
The women didn’t seem to notice his obvious disinterest and continued their dispute. Geralt tried to tune them out as best he could, but their voices grew louder, until they were impossible to ignore. 

“If we all just stayed out of the woods, we wouldn’t have to worry about getting attacked and the bears could live in peace.” The young woman threw her hands up in exasperation. 

Marta snorted. “Now that’s just rich. I’ve seen you go into this forest every month! Meeting a new lover so soon after your husband’s death, are you? What would Raingen say if he knew?”

The young women grew frigid. “You leave my son out of this. If you ever imply that I don’t care for him, ever again, I swear I will rip you apart.” 

The tone of her voice showed how serious she was.  
Marta must have noticed too. She muttered something under her breath and left the table. 

The other woman took some deep breaths, before turning to Geralt with an apologetic smile.  
“I’m sorry for that. Ever since the bear attacks, everyone here is very tense.”

Geralt huffed. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“It is good that you didn’t accept the contract, if I may say so. I’m sure if people just left them alone, the animals wouldn’t attack.” 

He grunted in agreement. 

“So, are you going to leave soon? Apart from the bears, we are safe here.”

He was spared having to answer once again. Jaskier had ended his performance and come over to his table. 

“Why, Geralt, who is your lovely company?”

“I’m Jadwiga.”

Jaskier swept her hand up and planted a kiss on it. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I do hope, you will listen to my performance later tonight? I would love to get to know you better.”

Geralt sighed inwardly. The bard really couldn’t help himself, could he?  
But Jadwiga suddenly looked uncomfortable. She took her hand back to herself.

“I’m sorry, I can’t tonight. And I doubt you would like to get to know me.” 

Immediately what Geralt called Jaskier’s seduction-smirk dropped and became more of a smile. “Oh, don’t apologize. It is quite alright. You did already hear me play just now after all.” 

So apparently Jaskier did know when his advances were unwelcome. Geralt had begun to wonder if he would ever see Jaskier get turned down. In the two years they had been somewhat reluctant friends now, it hadn’t happened once.  
And Jaskier was as surprised by it now, as Geralt was, if him being at a loss for words for once was any indication.

The awkward silence was broken by a yell from outside the tavern.

“Help! We need help!”

Without hesitation, Geralt stormed outside. His hand was already at the hilt of his sword. But it wasn’t needed.  
The fight was already over - had been for quite a while- from the look of it. Geralt watched as a man that was bleeding heavily from multiple wounds, got half dragged by two others into what must be the house of a healer. 

“What on earth had caused that?”

Jaskier’s question made Geralt’s head snap back to him.  
He, as well as everyone else, had followed Geralt outside to gawk.  
Murmur rose around them. The smell of worry and fear became overpowering.  
A burly man with a beard stepped forward. He had been the first to approach Geralt about the bear.

“That is it. I refuse to let more people get hurt. If the witcher won’t help us, we will do it ourselves. I will go and kill that beast once and for all. Whoever is with me, come to my house by tomorrow evening.” 

Shouts of agreement, of “Let’s kill the beast!” rose through the crowd. 

Geralt heard a gasp behind him. He turned slightly. Jadwiga stared wide eyed at bearded man. 

“You can’t just kill an innocent animal.”

The man spit in front of her. “Stop your nagging. I’ve had enough. The whole town’s had enough. It is time we stand up and you can’t change our minds. I would have thought you of all people would want the bear dead. After all your husband was the first one to die from his injuries.”

Jadwiga stared at him for a moment, eyes ablaze, before pushing past Geralt and leaving the crowd. 

“See, we don’t need you, witcher, if you are too much of a coward to kill a bear,” the man scoffed and left Geralt as well. 

Geralt watched him retreat and scowled. 

“Whatever that was, it was no normal bear,” he muttered.

Jaskier put a hand on his hip. “What do you mean, no normal bear?”

“It means I do have work here, after all.”

They have been following the trail deep into the forest.  
Or rather, Geralt was following the now day-old trail. Jaskier probably didn’t notice the blood in the dark. Instead, the bard kept complaining about why they couldn’t have waited for the sun to rise properly.  
It had taken Geralt the rest of the past day to talk to the townsfolk, one exaggerating more than the other and inspect the injuries of the hurt man.  
He had been right. The gashes were to deliberate to be caused by a wild animal.  
Jaskier of course agreed with doing ‘thorough research’, as he called it, but didn’t see why they had to leave for the forest, during a time when his human eyes would be unable to see where he was going. The full moon gave not nearly enough light to stop him from tripping over roots.

“No one asked you to come,” Geralt growled. “You could have stayed in town.”

“What, and miss out on the chance for a new song? I don’t think so, my friend.”

“Then stop complaining.”

It was distracting. And possibly dangerous.  
If the beast was still around, Jaskier’s never ending talking could attract its attention. 

“Oh, oh you don’t get to talk to me about complaining. I am not the one who constantly looks like he just-“

“Shut up Jaskier!,” Geralt hissed.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s right there. If you don’t want it to attack us, be quiet.” 

Jaskier actually stopped talking.  
Good.  
Now maybe, if he was careful, he could approach the beast without startling it.  
From what he could see it did look like a bear. Mostly. Instead of the furred paw of an animal, the beast had almost human looking arms and legs with claws instead of finger nails. It hadn’t noticed him yet.  
He slowly crept closer, not making a sound. Jaskier followed suit.  
And stepped on a branch. 

Fuck.

The beast’s head snapped up. Its low growl soon became a roar, as it charged them.  
Geralt stood in front of Jaskier, sword drawn. Thankfully, the bard stayed close. He would definitely get lost if he ran away now. At least like this, Geralt could make sure he was safe.  
The not-quite bear roared again, spit landing on the witcher’s face. Geralt averted its strikes and bites with precise movements. 

Jaskier yelped. Geralt sincerely hoped that Jaskier knew how absolutely stupid it was for him to call out like that.  
The beast immediately left Geralt in order to claw at his companion.  
Geralt threw himself on the beast’s back, trying to restrain it. 

It didn’t work. 

But it did give Jaskier enough time to jump out of reach. The beast shook Geralt off.  
He barely managed to roll to the side, before the claws crashed onto the ground, where he had just lain. He escaped another deathly blow. But one of the claws still grazed him. He felt a light burning sensation on his arm. The gash wasn’t deep, but enough to bleed.  
He didn’t pay any attention to it.  
Neither did he to Jaskier’s startled scream. 

“Geralt, what are you waiting for? Attack it!” 

But Geralt still refused to use his sword.  
If he was right, he wouldn’t have to last long. Already, the first rays of the morning sun shone through the trees. 

The blows of the beast came slower. He just had to hold it a little bit longer.  
The beast started to falter; its steps becoming uncoordinated. Its form shifted and changed proportions. Geralt could hear Jaskier’s horrified gasp as the fur retracted and made way for human skin. 

Geralt stepped forward and caught the woman as she fell limply to the ground. He could hear her shuddering heart as she slowly regained her consciousness.  
The stench of fear filled the air. 

She pushed herself away from Geralt’s grip and shielded her naked body with her arms.  
Jaskier shifted uncomfortably and shrugged off his doublet. He held it up for the cowering woman. She hesitated, before snatching it away quickly and covering herself. Trembling, she lifted her gaze and looked at the witcher through tousled strands of blond hair.  
Her gaze fell on the gash on his arm. Her eyes went wide and she shuffled backwards.

“I am so sorry. Please don’t hurt me.”

Her looked uncertainly from the bard to the witcher.  
Geralt crouched down until he was on eye level with the woman. 

“We are not going to hurt you, Jadwiga.” 

She flinched. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt these people. If they don’t come into the forest anymore, they won’t get hurt.” 

Geralt’s eyes narrowed. “I believe that you didn’t want anyone to get hurt.” 

He heard her letting out a shuddering breath of relief.  
It faltered at his next words. 

“But you are not the one hurting them, are you?”

Jaskier stepped in. “I’m sorry, what do you mean, she’s not the one? No offence, but she is a…bear-thing. Occasionally, it seems, but still. And the men said it was a bear that attacked them.”

“He’s right.” She tried to hide the terror in her voice, but to no avail. 

Geralt tried to speak as soothingly as possible.  
It probably wasn’t very successful. “She is not a thing, Jaskier. She’s a werebear. You don’t go into the forest every month to meet someone, do you? You come here to transform.”

Hesitantly, the woman nodded. Her lips were trembling. “I’m sorry.” 

Geralt waited for more explanation. But it didn’t come. Gently, he pressed on. “So who attacks the people then?”

“Wh-what?”

“Today is the first full moon of this month. The attack was yesterday. So I ask you again. Who hurt them?”

She pressed her lips firmly together and shut her eyes tightly, as if she was awaiting a strike.  
She sat frozen on the ground. She wouldn’t speak.  
Of course she wouldn’t.  
A mother would never betray her child like that. 

“I’m not going to hurt your son, Jadwiga. I promise.” 

Jadwiga looked up, tears in her eyes.  
“He didn’t mean to do it. He is just a child. He can’t control it yet, but I can teach him. The hunters just saw a bear and attacked. He only protected himself, you have to believe me.”

Once again, Jaskier chimed in. “I’m sorry, did I miss something? We find a werebear in the middle of the forest and get attacked by i-her. So why exactly are we talking about her child right now? I thought you said she only transformed during the full moon.”

Geralt didn’t take his eyes of the scared woman as he answered. “That’s because she was cursed. People don’t just become what she is. Except the children of therianthropes, the cursed ones. They are born like it and aren’t limited by the moon.”  
He turned his attention back to the woman.  
“And you can’t teach him. You won’t ever be able to control it yourself.” 

The woman’s gaze dropped. A strangled sob escaped her.  
“What am I supposed to do then? Raingen is my son! I just want him to be safe. I swear that is the only reason, why…” She trailed of. 

Geralt crossed his arms.  
He waited. 

With a small voice Jadwiga finished her sentence. “Why I attacked his father.”

Geralt didn’t answer. And for once in his life, Jaskier was too shocked to talk.  
The woman seemed to take the silence as an accusation. Or maybe it was her own guilty conscience whispering in her ear that she was a monster.  
Geralt knew too well about that hatful voice in the back of one’s mind.

The woman curled in on herself protectively and whispered “He had found out. He didn’t know about my curse; why I left for the woods every so often. One night, he followed me. Raingen was with me. I wanted to make sure he was safe while transforming. It is painful, you know. More than you could ever imagine. My husband saw him become a bear. And he…” Her voice broke off. “He said our son was a monster. He wanted to kill him! No matter how much I pleaded and tried to reason with him, he wouldn’t stop. So I…” 

She stopped again, unable to confess to what she’d done. 

Geralt did it for her. “So you attacked first.”

She nodded falteringly. When she looked up again, her eyes were glistening. 

“I only did it to save my child.” Her tone became firmer. “I regret it every day, but I will do it again. I don’t attack people, who don’t attack us first, but I will protect my son, no matter at what cost.”

Jaskier let out a startled sound. Apparently he had found his voice again. 

“Couldn’t you just hide? You heard the people yesterday. From what it looked like, half the town will be on the hunt for you. You can’t fight them all.”

Geralt kept his eyes on the woman. “Jaskier.” 

The bard suddenly understood. “She _can_ fight them?” 

Jadwiga completed his thought. “And if I have to, I can kill them all.” Her eyes pierced Geralt. “I know what you think. I tried it too. But you can’t reason with these people. They are violent and hell-bent on killing. It’s either them or my son and I. The only question is, on whose side are you?” 

Geralt froze. He couldn’t do this. Not again.  
But he knew that the woman was right. He had smelled it: The fear that made people irrational; that made them become mindless killers.  
The town was out for blood and any attempt at diplomacy would only be wasted breath. They would kill a woman and her child if it meant they would be safe. But the feral glint in Jadwiga’s eyes, the way her jaw was set… she would protect her child or die trying.  
She would kill everyone who dared to come after them, even if she would have to wipe out that entire town.  
There was no right side in this fight. 

He turned away from the woman. 

“Come, Jaskier.”

“Wh-what? Geralt, we can’t just leave.” 

Geralt grunted in clear disagreement.  
Jaskier risked one last look at the woman that was determined to sacrifice what was left of her humanity if it meant defending her loved-one.  
After a moment, Geralt heard Jaskier’s footsteps following him. 

When they were out of earshot, Jaskier grabbed his hand to halted him. Geralt noticed with a furrowed brow that Jaskier didn’t let go, even after Geralt had stopped.

“What are you going to do? Are you… you didn’t kill her. So are you on her side?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not when both sides were wrong. Not when they were both right in defending themselves. 

“Geralt, she is going to kill all those people!”

Geralt clenched the hand Jaskier wasn’t holding on to into a fist.  
He knew that. Of course he knew that there would be a slaughter, if he didn’t choose a side. But…

“What do you want me to do then? Kill a mother who’s protecting her child? Or help her and kill everyone else?”

Jaskier hesitated. “I’m not saying you should kill anyone. But sometimes you have to choose the lesser-“

Abruptly Geralt whirled around and cut him short. “Don’t say it. Not you. There is no such thing as a lesser evil for me. I will not choose between two evils.” 

“So what then? You leave them to kill each other? How is that better? More people might get hurt!”

Damn it! Why did he have to make this even harder? 

For a moment there was only silence.  
Jaskier looked at him. Geralt half expected to see disgust in those blue eyes.  
But instead he saw a plea. A plea to figure this out and the infinite trust that he would.  
Geralt’s jaw worked. 

“I won’t leave them.” 

Jaskier audibly exhaled. Relief seemed to wash over him. 

“So you can save everyone? I knew you would find a way!” 

He beamed at the witcher.  
Geralt’s heart clenched. Jaskier was wrong. There was no ‘saving everyone’. There never was.  
But Jaskier looked at him, as if all of his faith was with Geralt. 

“A were-beast’s curse can be lifted.” Something cold settled within him. “But I need some time. Go back to the town. Try to buy me some time, before the hunters come after Jadwiga.” 

Jaskier gave his hand a squeeze.  
A thank you.  
Unbeknownst to the bard it would also be a good-bye.  
Geralt watched as Jaskier disappeared out of sight. 

It hadn’t taken Geralt long to gather everything he needed.  
Most of the time had just consisted of waiting. Meditating. Coming to terms with what he was about to do.  
He thought of Jaskier and his unconditional trust that he would find a way to save everyone.  
He thought of Renfri. He couldn’t let it end like that again. He couldn’t become the butcher again. 

He took a steady breath and reopened his eyes. They immediately fell on Jadwiga who sat in front of him on the forest floor, arms slung around the shoulders of a child, barely ten years of age and with a frightened look on his face.  
The woman was fully dressed now. Geralt had gone back to where he’d left her, told her to get her son and return to him before nightfall. 

“Are you sure this is going to work?” 

Her voice was uncertain. But Geralt noticed the unmistakable smell of fear slowly but surely turn into hope.  
He was still for a moment. Was he sure? 

“No. Not completely. It will break the curse for you, but I can’t tell if it will work for your son. He was born like this. There is no curse to be lifted from him.”

The woman’s embrace on the boy tightened. 

“But you will try.” 

It wasn’t a question. Geralt had assured her time and time again that he would. 

The last rays of the sun disappeared behind the trees. The moon would come out soon.

“Are you ready?,” Geralt asked. 

The two nodded. The boy with more hesitance than his mother. He gave them a firm stare. 

“I need you both to be sure. You will have to try and control yourself as much as possible.” His gaze shifted to Raingen. “And you have to attack me as well.” 

“But…but I don’t want to hurt you. Mother always says hurting people is bad when they don’t want hurt you first.”

“You have a wise mother. But it won’t work if I am not hurt. The ritual requires great pain.” Or a great personal loss. And the only thing that he could consider a loss to him at this moment, would be the foolish bard who called himself his friend and trusted him. And he would sooner die before he sacrificed the only person who endured his company, who didn’t leave his side, no matter what gruesome things he witnessed. “And that is only to cure _one_ of you. You are two.”

Jadwiga lowered her eyes. “Double the pain… “ 

The unspoken ‘it will kill you. _We_ will kill you’ hung in the air between them. 

Geralt nodded once. It was better than a whole town perishing. Better than a mother and her child dying. And it was better than turning his back on them and leave them all to their demise. 

“So this is your plan?” The appalled shout came from behind him. “Geralt, have you gone mad?” 

Jaskier. Geralt closed his eyes. How had he missed the bard approaching? 

“How long have you been standing there?,” Geralt asked. 

“Not long enough, it seems. Or else we both would have been out of this forest long ago, instead of you chatting with these two, telling them to _maul_ you.”

Geralt stood up, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

“I thought you were the one who said I should save everyone.”

Jaskier came closer. With the audacity that only he could have, he stabbed a finger onto Geralt’s chest. 

“Yes. Everyone. That includes you. And I am not going to just stand here and watch as you sacrifice yourself.”

“Jaskier-“

“No! You say you don’t want to choose between two evils? Alright, that’s fair. But creating a third evil is not a solution, for fucks sake! And for me, out of all the bad options, the one where you just go and fucking die on the off-chance that it _might_ work, is by far the greatest evil.”

Geralt didn’t answer. He felt the eyes of Jadwiga and Raingen burn in the back of his neck.  
But Jaskier’s eyes that were transfixing him, burned brighter. 

“Don’t let them hurt you,” Jaskier said imploringly and came closer. “I know what I said before. I know I’m probably the one who gave you that stupid idea in the first place by making you choose. I was wrong, alright? Let’s just leave. _Please_.”

The small voice of the boy behind him spoke up. “He’s right. I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt the others either.” 

Geralt still stood frozen in place.  
He had told them he had found a way to save them. He had failed. 

Gently, Jaskier took his hand in his. “We have to go. The hunters must be on their way, by now.”

And the moon was almost up. It was almost time for Jadwiga to become a killing monster again.  
He looked at her. He hoped his eyes spoke of what he couldn’t put into words.  
An apology.  
A farewell. 

The woman nodded in understanding, but firmly said “I will still protect my son.”

“Of course you will.” 

He let Jaskier guide him out of the forest, though he wasn’t sure Jaskier even knew the way. He seemed to only want to get as far away as possible. 

Not long after they left the small, scared family behind them, Geralt heard screams. Roars. Human and other.  
The hunters must have found them. 

The full moon shone through the leaves, illuminating their path.  
The clang of swords.  
The ripping sounds of claws tearing flesh apart.  
Jaskier was still holding his hand, a determined look on his face. Geralt tried to take his hadn back, but Jaskier held on fast.  
Geralt wasn’t sure, whether they were already too far away from the slaughter for Jaskier to hear it. It didn’t take long, until Geralt’s hearing failed him too.  
He wouldn’t ever know who had lost the battle.  
But no matter the outcome, he felt like he had lost either way. He had failed to protect anyone. Had failed to sacrifice himself.  
The third evil.  
But he would do it again, should the need arise. He was a witcher, it was his job to protect others or give his life trying. 

“You will save more people if you keep on living.” 

Jaskier’s voice was quiet. He had gotten too good at reading Geralt’s silence. Geralt knew even though the screams of the dying had gone unheard by Jaskier, they would haunt the bard.  
Still, Jaskier looked as though he was sure of having made the right choice, saving his friend and preventing the third evil. 

Just as he had done this morning, Geralt felt a light squeeze of his hand.  
Another thank you. For keeping on living. For not making this a good-bye.  
Barely noticeably, Geralt squeezed back.


	3. I’m Here With You To Keep You

**I’m Here With You To Keep You**

The next two days passed relatively similar to the first one, although the soldiers gave up on speaking with him after a while. The last thing that was being said to him was a somewhat apologetic “It wasn’t my idea” from the solider who had sat with him on the first day, before he was blindfolded again.  
One would think he’d gotten used to the humiliating ordeal of being thrown over a horseback by now, but he was far from it. If there was one thing Jaskier had always had going for him, it was his charismatic presence. But now, there was barely any left of that. 

The horses came to a halt once more and Jaskier prepared himself for what had become a familiar routine by now: Being hoisted off the horse, being sat down like a misbehaving child, getting told to eat and then either sleep or get back on the horse.  
But the routine diverged already on the second point. When his feet landed on the ground, it felt more solid than the forest floor he had expected. Harder.  
Now that he thought of it, the sound of the hooves had been sharper as well for a while, like the ground had changed.  
Before he could try and orient himself somehow, he was grabbed and shoved forwards. After almost falling down a few too many times, Jaskier had learned his lesson and complied quickly, following the soldiers' guidance as best he could. 

The warmth of the sun on his skin disappeared suddenly and was replaced by stony cold. Jaskier’s heart sunk. Because of the blindfold, he hadn’t been able to see the sun in a long time now, but the sudden loss of its warmth was like a shock to him. The constant riding had been monotonous enough to make him forget that at the end of it, he would have to face worse things than boredom and loss of dignity. What if that first break from the ride had been the last time he would ever see the sun? What if he was to be kept in here - wherever _here_ was- until he died?  
His feet faltered at the thought. Suddenly the prospect of falling on his face, of humiliation and scraped skin seemed like nothing compared to the thought of marching to his fate willingly. He set his feet firmly on the ground, tried to shake the hands off of his arms, tried to get away- 

Sharp pain across his face. His head flew to the side at the unexpected punch. His struggle slowly seized. But he still couldn’t move forwards; Couldn’t present himself to the garrotter that destiny was, without showing that he was unwilling to lay his head on the block. 

Another shove, harder this time and accompanied by a gruff “Move” made him stumble forward. “Don’t lose what’s left of your dignity on your last steps.” 

The words of the soldier cut Jaskier like a knife. His last steps. So it truly was to end here. The fall of his footsteps echoes from what must be walls, as he got dragged away. Setting one foot in front of the other, without the consent of his mind. As if his body had already accepted what his head still couldn’t comprehend. 

Without warning, the blindfold got ripped off. Instinctively he blinked, but it wasn’t necessary. His eyes didn’t need to adjust much. With mild satisfaction he noted that his hearing had not deceived him. Stone walls towered to both sides of him, illuminated only slightly by the flickering light of a torch.  
He didn’t need to look at the soldiers holding on to him. Their voices had marked them as the same ones who had seized him and dragged him from the tavern.  
His eyes fell on the reason why he had been relieved of his blindfold: They stood right at the top of a staircase leading downwards. Of course. It would have been too much to ask for to not having to decent even lower after being swallowed up by this stone-beast that was to be his prison. The intent was clear. Before he could be pushed to fall down the stairs, he took the steps himself. The further down he got, the bigger the lump in his throat and the shallower his breath became. Though it couldn’t have taken long, the way down felt like it stretched on for an eternity.

Eventually, the stairs ended. One of the soldiers released him. A rattling of keys was heard, followed by a door being opened nearly silently. It felt strangely anticlimactic. Cell-doors were supposed to squeal when opened, weren’t they?  
Jaskier’s only contact with prisons was from stories about heroes and villains; Stories that had seemed so far removed from reality that Jaskier had never thought it possible that he would end up in one of them himself. The question was only, what he was to be. A damsel? A fallen hero?  
A hollow sound that could almost be mistaken for a twisted laugh escaped him, as he was guided through these doors that seemed to mock him with how utterly non-threatening and ordinary they were. He wouldn’t be a hero or a damsel. He would only be a bard, forgotten with time. A story untold, unbeknownst to the world. 

His body moved like in a trance. His feet dragged across the ground and his eyes shifted to take in what was to be his new home. It was small, bordering on confining. Blank walls, an uncomfortable looking cot, a small window, allowing the barest beam of light into the cell, a mockery of what the sun was capable of. All in all, the room was just… _boring_. 

Jaskier’s mouth was faster than his brain. “This is it? I thought it would be a bit more dramatic.” 

The door closed behind him with a soft click. One of his guard-dogs had closed it from the outside. Damn. It had been the nice one. Now Jaskier was left alone with the feral woman who had quite a ruthless understanding of how Jaskier was to be treated. 

The remaining soldier sneered. “What, is it not to your liking? Should we change it for you?”

Jaskier snorted, while his mind was screaming at him that this was a bad idea, to not make this situation any worse, to just keep his damn mouth shut.  
But of course he didn’t listen. A mind that told a bard to stay quiet couldn’t be trustworthy anyway. 

“So kind of you too ask. While we’re at it, your face is not to my liking either, please change that as well.” 

Jaskier received his answer rather quickly in the form of a fist connecting to his nose. A sharp cracking sound filled the air, accompanied by a cry. Jaskier’s bound hands immediately flew up to his face to feel his nose. Hot pain shot through him as his fingers connected to the spot where the fist had met him. Something warm and sticky dripped out of his nose and onto his lips. ‘Blood’, his brain provided helpfully. 

“Fuck,” he panted. There was a bite in his tone when he added. “It was _your_ ugly mug I asked you to change, not _my_ face. You really don’t understand a simple request, do you?” 

“Understand this, you son of a mongrel-bitch!” 

A punch to the gut. Jaskier gasped for breath. He felt his knees hitting the ground, unable to break the fall with his hands. Deep breaths. It hurt. But he had to get up again.  
Before he could make an attempt, he was thrown to the side by a kick in the ribs. His head connected painfully with the stone floor. Fire flared through his ribs, his gut, his nose.  
Another kick.

“This will teach you to keep your mouth shut! I am fucking sick of your smartarse comments.” 

Another punch. Gasping for breath that he couldn’t keep in as another kick came. And another. The edges of his vision became blurry. 

“Stop, please stop!,” he wheezed, but he knew his plea wouldn’t be heard.

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut and curled in on himself as if that could protect him from the pain. Screams that became whimpers. A click. The pain of a new assault that Jaskier braced himself for, never came.  
Hesitantly, he opened his eyes again.  
The sound of a door opening, too ordinary a sound for a prison. Too ordinary for the man who stepped through it now, either a saviour from the pain or another tormenter. Either way, the seal of Jaskier’s fate.  
He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene before him. A soldier, now standing to the side. A bard, lying on the ground, blood dripping down his face. He gave the soldier a sign with his hand. 

“Get out.” 

The soldier immediately complied. “He’s all yours, Cahir.” 

The man who had been addressed as Cahir watched as the soldier left, shutting the door behind her. Then with deliberate slowness he came closer and kneeled in front of Jaskier. The bard flinched back involuntarily, when the man reached out and took Jaskier’s chin in his hand. His grasp was light, could almost be called gentle, but there was something cold in his eyes, an unmistakable threat. He tilted Jaskier’s face up, similarly to how the commander had done back in the city. Back when Jaskier still had the faint hope that he would be able to get away. A hope whose smouldering flame extinguished under Cahir’s gaze.  
The man’s brows furrowed slightly as he took note of Jaskier’s injuries. A thumb grazed Jaskier’s forehead where he had hit it on the ground. Jaskier had to clench his teeth to repress a pained hiss.  
The man let go of him and held out a hand. Jaskier stared at it for a moment, before slowly taking it. His body screamed in protest when Cahir pulled him up.  
With a swift motion, his restrains were cut. The unexpected surge of blood after days of being bound, sent an uncomfortable tingle through his hands, like a thousand tiny needles prodding his skin. He rubbed his wrists in a vain attempt to banish the feeling. 

He felt his legs buckle under him and leaned against the wall, hoping that it would at least spare him the indignity of collapsing in front of this man. Cahir’s eyes didn’t waver. There was no doubt he hadn’t missed Jaskier seeking stability.  
His voice was smooth when he spoke, his tone almost apologetic. 

“You can sit down, if you’re more comfortable that way.” 

Jaskier didn’t. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, though his body screamed at him to forget his pride and allow himself some rest. Cahir’s mouth twitched down almost unnoticeably. 

“I apologize for your treatment. I am sure a repeat will not be necessary.” 

Oh, how Jaskier hoped for the same. How he doubted it. Instead of answering, he posed a question of his own.  
“May I ask, where we are?” 

Not the subtlest of questions, for sure, but Jaskier’s mind was occupied with other things. Like breathing and ignoring the pain that pulsed through his body. But the question had been burning in him since his feet had first met with the stone floor.  
The soldiers who had taken him were without a doubt of Nilfgaard, but the trip hadn’t been nearly long enough to reach their homeland. Still, this wasn’t a camp. This was a building of stone and judging by how long he’d been guided through it, it wasn’t small. So it had to be a fort or some other large building they had conquered.  
Had Nilfgaard’s army really made that much progress? He had known they were relentless, having experienced first-hand how ruthless they were when he had fled city after city to escape their wrath. But he hadn’t known they were so close to taking over this land already.

Cahir took after Jaskier and didn’t answer the question either. Jaskier had started a game two could play apparently. 

“Where. What an interesting question. In fact, it is the same one, I wanted to ask you as well.” His voice became sterner, a sharp edge to it now. “Where is the White Wolf?”

Jaskier’s mind went blank. What on earth should he answer to that? 

He said the first thing that came to mind. “The White Wolf? Is that supposed to be some kind of tavern?” His hands flew nervously through the air. “You can’t honestly expect me to remember every tavern I’ve been to. But if you want, I can recommend some.”

Cahir’s eyes hardened. In spite of himself, Jaskier pressed closer against the wall in a feeble attempt to get farther away from this man. 

“You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

Jaskier looked at him as innocently as possible. “Do I?”

“The witcher, Geralt of Rivia, your _dearest_ friend.”

His blood ran cold. Geralt of Rivia. How the hell had they made that connection? For years, Jaskier had just been a bard, travelling on his own. How could they have linked them?

“I am not his friend.”

Jaskier had never seen a colder smile in his life than the one that stretched across Cahir’s face now. “Now, we both know that is a lie, don’t we?” 

“It’s not.” He wrung his hands. “Go ask Geralt of Rivia yourself. I am sure he would tell you the same.”

It was fast. Jaskier almost didn’t have time to react, to lift his hands protectively in front of his face, before the blade Cahir had used to cut his restrains with sliced across his skin. He couldn’t help the startled cry that broke from his lips. It wasn’t a deep cut, but he still felt blood drip out of the small gash on his forearm, discolouring his shirt.  
His eyes shot back to Cahir, who was inspecting the small knife with a disapproving scowl. 

“I told you I didn’t want a repeat of what happened to you. I had hoped we could have a normal talk. So. What do you know about the witcher’s whereabouts?” 

No. There was no way Jaskier would find the right answers. Not if he was asked about the witcher. 

“No one has heard of him in years. He disappeared a long time ago.”

“I know that. Hence my question. As a bard you should be thrilled to finally tell the story you hadn’t been allowed to share before. So I repeat: tell me what you know about the witcher.”

Jaskier’s heart fluttered painfully in his chest. “I can try. But I tell you I don’t know much.” 

Cahir just stared at him like a predator waiting for his prey to make a wrong move so he could pounce on it.  
Jaskier’s thoughts were racing. What was he supposed to do? Was there even a right move? Maybe if he just stuck to what was common knowledge, it would be enough. The stories of Geralt of Rivia were well known, but maybe they would be news to Cahir. Jaskier was sure the songs hadn’t travelled to Nilfgaard. Maybe, just maybe, he would get away with it.

“Geralt of Rivia is the mightiest of witchers. With a bard as his only companion, he fought with elves and devils. He…can’t be bleat?” 

Fuck.  
Jaskier hadn’t been able to escape the damn song, it being sung wherever he went. But now he wished he had more to go off of than just bad puns and obvious exaggerations. 

Cahir did not look amused. There was a flash in his eyes, followed by the flash of his knife, as it painted a thin red line across Jaskier’s cheek.  
He clenched his teeth, willing the stinging tears from falling. 

“Do not play games with me! I have heard that fucking song. I want to know where he is now.” 

Cahir got closer until there was only a hand’s width separating them. He lifted his knife and caressed it across Jaskier’s jaw; a cruel mockery of a lover’s touch.  
His voice took on a sweet note that dripped like venom from his tongue. Jaskier wished he would go back to the cold words. It would be less cruel than this imitation of care. 

“You see, your precious Geralt has something that I need. Princess Cirilla. I have to get her.” 

“Good luck with that. Haven’t you heard? The princess is dead. She died when you burned down her home, along with everyone else.”

A smile that send an icy shiver down Jaskier’s spine appeared on Cahir’s face. “Ahh, truly, that is what people say. But you and I both know better. Cirilla survived. And you will help me find her.”

Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat and his breath hitched. Unwanted images of the little princess he had played for, beaten and chained up in this very cell flashed through his mind. He couldn’t let this happen. The princess was just a child!  
He prayed his thoughts didn’t show on his face.

Cahir continued, the knife’s ministrations accompanying each word, though to light to pierce his skin and draw blood. 

“She has to succumb to her destiny. Finding her is more important than anything. Far more important than the life of a bard who made the wrong friends. Finding Geralt means finding her. It’s the key to winning this war and fulfil destiny. And you know where he is, so _talk_!” 

Finally, a cut. He could feel the trace of the blood tickling down his jaw and over his neck.  
After the torture of not knowing when it would come, the sting felt almost freeing. Like being able to release a breath you weren’t sure how long you would have to hold.

“I don’t know where they are!,” he all but screamed at his tormenter. 

The glint of fury in Cahir’s eyes was all the warning Jaskier got, before the punch hit him. His head was thrown against the wall from the force of it. There it was. The uncontrolled rage. Raw, violent and oh so painful. But far less terrifying than the calculated cuts of calmness from before. 

For an unexpectedly serene moment, Jaskier thought this was it. This was how his life would end. Alone in a cell, bleeding and barely able to stand, killed for not talking enough, for not saying the right things. It felt wrong that his inability to find the right words would be his death. Then again, perhaps this was the most fitting fate for a bard. 

But the deadly blow never came. Cahir’s breathing was ragged as he willed himself with barely-there restraint to take a step back and school his expression into a neutral one.  
For a tense moment the two just stared at each other. Unspoken threats hung in the air between them, until Cahir turned around and left.  
The door was silent as it fell close, but the key locking it and sealing Jaskier in was too loud to bear. 

With eyes blown wide, Jaskier stood where Cahir had left him, staring at the door. With every second that passed, he started to tremble more, exhaustion and barely supressed ache making it impossible to stand any longer. He slid down the wall until he was sitting in a crouched position, head buried in his hands, trying and failing to steady his shaking breath.  
It was too dark, too lonely, too quiet.  
The tears he had not allowed himself to shed before, left his eyes at long last, making their way down his cheeks until they got lost in the blood. Broken sobs wrecked his body. Each jolt reminding him of the kicks and punches with a hot wave of pain.  
In between the shuddering, a melody drifted through the air. It was a simple melody, with no words, only a quiet hum, meant to lull children to rest, to ease pain and bad memories. It was interrupted by his sobs; wasn’t steady, for his tears restricted his throat. But it was music. _His_ music. Even if he had lost everything else, his songs had stayed with him. It didn’t take away his pain, but if only for a moment, it made Jaskier forget. 

When the Cahir came back the next day and the day after that and with him the unanswerable questions, the knife and the pain, the song stayed with Jaskier.  
For each answer he didn’t give, for every slice across his skin, Jaskier threw the melody at this torturer. What had started out as humming couldn’t be called singing anymore, it was screaming in tune with his pain, harmonizing with cries of agony, becoming a crescendo of anguish. Then falling into a hum that was no more than a whimper on his lips. 

After a while his song was all he could hear. The questions didn’t reach him anymore. His song was keeping him safe from having to answer them, though it couldn’t protect him from the cuts and punches that would inevitably follow.  
When he refused to answer the questions, Cahir shifted to taunts. They were worse. It was Jaskier’s own decision to not answer a question. But there was no such choice with the scorn, no possible answer he could keep to himself. Only the truth of his words. 

“Your witcher won’t be able to save you. You’re on your own. You have to save yourself from this. No one will come for you.” 

Was it even Cahir’s voice? Or was it his own mind telling him to spare himself this pain by answering Cahir? It didn’t matter. The truth stayed regardless of who had voiced it.  
He sang again, earning him more shouting. To stop with the fucking song. Punches. To answer the damn questions and stop singing. A cut.  
His voice cracked. From singing, from screaming.  
Even if he had wanted to, Jaskier wouldn’t be able to form words through the pain. What would happen to him once he wouldn’t be able to sing anymore either? But who would he sing to anyway? A song unheard was like a song unsung. It could help him forget the pain, but it wouldn’t ever be heard by anyone else, at least no one that mattered. Because no one would save him. 

** Eight years into their friendship**

“After me, gentlemen.” 

The attendant gestured for them to follow him. He kept a straight face, but Geralt knew that he was well aware of the fact that the witcher was no gentleman. In fact, he stuck out like a sore thumb in the vast room with the golden embellishments and lavish decorations. His armour that was covered in a fine layer of dust from the road and his tangled up hair – Jaskier had chided him for it, but Geralt had refused to let him comb through – created a stark contrast to the attendance’s fitting clothes, his neat haircut and trimmed beard. Internally, he must have been fuming at the thought of guiding the witcher through the estate as though he was a nobleman when both of them knew he was the farthest one could be from it. 

Jaskier on the other hand didn’t seem to feel uncomfortable in this environment at all. Despite the attendant’s barely concealed scowling, the bard stopped to look at every painting he came across and even went as far as to run his curious fingers over a marble bust. Though Geralt’s face remained a stoic mask, his spirits lifted as he watched his bard’s eyes shine at the beautiful sights, while the attendant’s expression shifted from mild exasperation to being utterly scandalized by Jaskier’s audacity.  
But instead of voicing his protests, the attendant gently but firmly ushered them onwards.  
Jaskier didn’t seem to mind. Instead of moping around, he started talking with their guide.

“So why does Baron Dariusz need us here anyway? The city seemed rather peaceful.” With a lowered voice he added. “And utterly boring.”

Geralt’s lips twitched, before he got them under control again.  
When they were on the road, Jaskier would often complain about how uncomfortable sleeping on the ground was and how dangerous Geralt’s exploits were. But as soon as they reached a calm place without any contracts, it was just uninspiring and boring to him.  
And yet... even if the baron hadn’t asked for _them_ , he would have accompanied him as if the invitation extended to him as well. No matter how boring or dangerous a place was, Jaskier would not leave Geralt’s side, once he had decided to go there.  
But as it was, Jaskier had been asked for as well. 

Geralt wouldn’t admit it, but he was thankful for Jaskier speaking to the attendant. He too didn’t understand yet what the baron wanted of them. Usually nobles either wanted a bard for their entertainment or a witcher for their safety. Rarely they asked for both, though more often than not, both is what they would receive. 

The attendant didn’t answer. That is to say, he gave a non-committal half-answer, as people working with nobility so often did. He led them through another hallway and into a wide room that was even more extravagant than the ones before. Geralt internally groaned as he laid his eyes on the broad man that was leaning against a window, in what was obviously a pre-prepared pose with his back to them.  
At the announcement of the attendant, he turned around in fake surprise.

“Ahhh, Geralt of Rivia, the esteemed witcher.” 

Geralt didn’t answer.

“And Jaskier, the famous troubadour! I welcome you both.”

Jaskier beamed at him. “We were delighted to receive your invitation, your Lordship.” 

Geralt couldn’t help but think that he had neither been delighted, nor did he think of it as an invitation. It had been an artfully written demand. He probably wouldn’t even have accepted it, had Jaskier not been so enthusiastic about it. 

Geralt only listened with one ear as the two exchanged pleasantries and took the chance to look around the room. He couldn’t sense any threats, nothing that would justify the need for a witcher. 

“Lord Dariusz, I have to say you have the most beautiful artworks!,” Jaskier sounded sincerely impressed.

“Well, I am a collector of rare and beautiful things. A passion I am sure you understand only too well.” He threw an all but subtle glance at Geralt. “Singing about the rarest and most spectacular subjects as you do. I would greatly enjoy a demonstration of your skills.”

Jaskier immediately complied. A tune that was familiar to Geralt but unheard of yet for anyone else filled the air. He recognized it as the song, Jaskier had been working on for the past weeks. His bard never played a song before it was truly perfect in his ears.  
This song spoke of a beautiful pair of eyes that had flames dancing in them or something similarly tacky. It was probably about one of Jaskier’s latest lovers.  
As he sung and the baron listened intently, Geralt let his eyes roam over the room once more. His medallion rested cool and motionless against his chest.

After the song was finished, the baron applauded. “You truly possess a rare talent.”

“Well, I do have the most special muse.”

“Undoubtedly. But now that you have entertained me, I must return the favour. Surely, you would like to take a look at the rest of my estate?” He didn’t need to wait for a reply. Jaskier’s shining eyes were answer enough. “Show our guest the music room.”

To the human eye, the attendant who had been addressed would look completely composed. But Geralt saw some colour leave his face.  
Geralt knew too well, what the man felt. He had felt it too, the first couple of months travelling with Jaskier, before he had gotten used to the constant stream of words that left his mouth. Geralt wished the poor man all the patience in the world.

Jaskier turned to Geralt with a beaming smile. “I will see you later.” 

With a skip in his steps he went after his guide. Geralt’s eyes followed him as he left the room.  
It had been a while since he had seen Jaskier so excited. Between travelling towards monsters and Jaskier occasionally running away from monsters, calling for Geralt’s help, Jaskier hadn’t had much time to be a bard. Geralt was sure he would hear his companion speak of this music collection for weeks to come. An almost unnoticeable smile tugged at the witcher’s mouth, that was quickly replaced by his typical grim expression, as the baron spoke again.

“Your bard is truly talented. And his songs are one of a kind. You must be proud to have such a friend.”

He was. “I didn’t know you let me come here to talk about music.”

“Not one for pleasantries, I see.” The baron chuckled. “But you are not mistaken. You aren’t here for my amusement. I just so happen to have a contract for you.”

Geralt remained silent, waiting for the man to continue.  
There was an awkward pause as the baron waited in vain for a reaction. He cleared his throat. “I want you to catch a Hirikka.”

Geralt was taken aback. “You want what?”

“A Hirikka.”

“With all due respect, Hirikkas live on mountains. This land is as flat as it gets.”

The baron huffed. “I know that. Do not think that I am stupid.” 

Too late. “Then why would you want me to kill one for you? You can’t possibly think they are a threat to you.”

The baron rolled his eyes, as if he was thinking that between the two of them, Geralt was the senseless one. “I do not want you to _kill_ it. I want you to _catch_ one for me.”

“I don’t catch creatures. That is not my job.” 

“Which is why I hired people before you. Hunters and adventurers. But most of them didn’t find the beasts or were attacked by them and killed them in self-defence. I believe such an oversight would not happen to a witcher.”

Geralt’s hands clenched into fists. He forced his voice to remain steady, but there was an unmistakable bite in his words. 

“Oversight? These creatures are at the brink of extinction! And you call people killing them an oversight.” 

“That is exactly my point. They are so rare. It would be a shame if they all vanished. So I want one for my collection.” 

A humourless laugh slipped past the witcher’s lips. “So this is what you do? You collect rare creatures? Should I start looking for a unicorn next? Or even better a gold dragon? You cannot possibly believe me to agree to this.” 

The baron’s eyes became a hint harder. “I thought you of all people would understand. One Hirikka to add to my collection means one less monster out there.”

“Hmm.”

Of course the baron would think that. It was a common misconception that all beasts that looked somewhat frightening were immediately vicious monsters.  
He had experienced that prejudice first hand. 

“You truly don’t want to help me, do you?”

“No. Tell me where Jaskier is, we are leaving.”

The baron sighed. “See, I was afraid you were going to say that.” 

The hairs on Geralt’s neck stood on end. His voice was so low, it had more resemblance with a growl. “Where is Jaskier?” 

“In the music room.” The baron turned his back on Geralt and made to leave the room. “Let me show you.”

Reluctantly, Geralt followed him. The baron led him deeper into his estate and down some stairs.  
Geralt stopped dead in his tracks. There had been a faint shrieking sound.  
Reflexively, his hand found his medallion, but it remained motionless. The baron looked at it with unabashed fascination. 

“It won’t work here, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean?” Geralt’s voice was but a growl. His medallion always worked. 

“I had a sorcerer cast a spell on this place. It represses magical auras.” 

So that was why he couldn’t feel anything. He didn’t need to though. He had already recognized the sound. It was the sound of a creature in pain. 

He brushed past the baron and headed towards the sound through the underground corridors.  
There were multiple locked glass doors, probably strengthened with magic, behind which he could hear the scratching, growling and whimpering of the beasts inside. Although his blood was boiling at the sight of the captive creatures, he didn’t allow himself more than brief glimpses at them, being too focussed on finding Jaskier. 

The shrieking sound returned. But now it also had a musical quality to it and was accompanied by another sound that made Geralt’s blood run cold.  
This whole place was utterly wrong, but the worst thing by far was the noise of Jaskier’s sobs that came from down the next hallway.  
Before he could reach where the sound had come from, though, he froze. A shimmering light shone through one of the glass doors. He took a step closer, eyes widening. No, it couldn’t be. Amidst some artificial grass stood one of the rarest and most beautiful creatures there were. 

The baron had used the witcher’s shock to catch up to him. Panting, he gestured towards the door. 

“Do you understand now? My collection is the most valuable one there is.”

Unbound rage surged through Geralt. “This is all this is to you? You have a fucking unicorn looked up in here!”

“Don’t you see? If I didn’t, there would be no more unicorns left here at all!”

Geralt’s eyes flashed dangerously and the baron took a step back. “And whose fault is that? This is the most innocent of creatures and you keep it bound and unable to use its magic in this cheap imitation of nature!” 

He ignored the baron as he was stammering some weak excuse and rushed off to find Jaskier.  
The closer he got to the sound of his sobs, the louder the strange melodious voice became. Geralt rounded a corner. And then he saw it.  
The music room. 

There was a small pond. Jaskier sat at its edge, hands bound behind his back and connected to a rope that was fastened on the wall that would have made it impossible for him to get away, had he wanted to. But his glazed over eyes made it clear that getting away was the farthest thought from his mind. He was staring mesmerised at the half-woman who was raised out of the water to the waist. She looked almost human, but Geralt knew better. Underneath the water, hidden from view, were a fishtail and wings.  
An unearthly melody left her mouth. The glass drained most of it. Had Geralt had human hearing, he would have barely heard a sound. But Jaskier, sitting right in front of her must feel the full force of the Siren’s call drawing him in. 

One of Geralt’s fists connected with the glass. It didn’t even shake. 

“Jaskier! Get away from her!” 

He tried casting the sign Aard, but once again it had no effect on the glass. Instead it ricocheted and blasted Garalt way from it. He barely managed to remain upright. 

The calm voice behind him made him snap around. “I would not do that again. I told you there is a magic shield. And your friend doesn’t hear you. But don’t worry, the Siren can’t leave the water without my permission. Her wings are bound and broken and her magic is restrained enough that she is no threat to your friend. Not yet anyways. But believe me when I say that at my command she would rip him to shreds and feast on him. She is oh so hungry.”

With a snarl, Geralt seized the baron’s throat and pressed him against a wall. 

“You will let him go now. And then you stop this madness of your _collection_.” 

The baron wheeze and Geralt loosened his grip just enough to allow the man to speak. “Now why would I do that? Look at him. He wouldn’t want to leave.”

“Because he is under the Siren’s spell!” 

“Exactly. He is happy with her.” The baron glanced at Jaskier who had a look of melancholy on his face. “Her song might be heart-breaking at times, but he is a bard, he appreciates music.”

“You are awfully calm for someone who is about to die,” Geralt growled.

The baron actually smiled. “I don’t believe I will die today. That is of course, unless you want your bard to remain with my dearest Siren.” 

Geralt’s mind was racing. The baron did have a point. His witcher sign hadn’t worked and the glass seemed to be impenetrable. Geralt needed the baron to get Jaskier out. 

He took his hand away from Dariusz’s throat, but bared his teeth in warning. The baron cleared his throat and smoothed out his clothes. 

“I see you understand. So what do you say now about my contract? You bring me a Hirikka for my exhibition and as payment you get your bard back?”

His fists clenched. This was wrong. Hunting down an innocent creature who hadn’t hurt anyone went against everything he believed in.  
He looked at Jaskier. It didn’t seem like the bard even registered the danger he was in. For him there was nothing apart from the haunting melody.  
Beneath the Siren’s song, Geralt could make out another, all too familiar voice humming in tune, harmonizing. Jaskier was singing a duet with the creature.  
This was bad. It was practically impossible for a normal human to escape a Siren’s spell and Jaskier was already far gone. If Geralt did anything to anger the baron now and he ordered the Siren to attack the bard, Jaskier would let it happen willingly. Geralt couldn’t just stand by and watch Jaskier get killed. 

His teeth grinded. “Catching a Hirikka will take a long time.”

A smug smile appeared on the baron’s face that made Geralt want to punch him. “Ahh, so you do see reason.”

“Like I said before, they dwell on the mountains. And once I get there, it might take a while until I find one, endangered as they are. What guarantees me that Jaskier will still be alive when I come back?”

The baron stroked his chin. “Yes, that is a valid concern. I assume my word won’t be good enough for you?” 

Geralt hummed affirmatively.

“I thought so. You won’t leave without certainty that he will live and I won’t let him out before you give me what I want.” His eyes narrowed and left Geralt’s face to look at something lower. “Maybe we can come to a different arrangement then. One that we can fulfil right away. Instead of an almost extinct beast you give me something else.” 

Geralt hesitated. What did the man mean by that? He collected rare creatures, what could Geralt give him?  
Although he kept his expression impartial, the baron must have guessed his thoughts. 

“I don’t only collect monsters, you see. Really, I am not picky, as long as it is rare, I will be satisfied.” He paused, eyes still fixed on Geralt’s chest. “There are less and less witchers, I hear. Your kind is almost extinct as well.” 

Geralt didn’t react. The man couldn’t seriously imply what he thought. The baron clicked his tongue impatiently. 

“But I am not so naïve as to think, you aren’t needed still in the world. As long as there are monsters out there, there have to be witchers. But I would settle for a compromise. I am sure no human as ever been in possession of a witcher’s medallion?”

Instinctively, Geralt’s hand shot up and wrapped itself around the medallion. It was a part of him, a part of his identity. The mere thought of giving it away was atrocious. 

“No.”

“What a shame. And here I thought I had the living proof that you mutants aren’t just unfeeling monsters.” The baron turned around with an exaggeratedly resigned sigh. “But I understand. Your necklace is of course more important than some bard you picked up from the streets. I should have known he wasn’t worth enough to you to sacrifice a trinket for him.”

Something in Geralt’s stomach twisted painfully.  
It wasn’t just a trinket. It was the most valuable thing he owned. A constant reminder of who he was. That even though humans shunned him, he did have a pack he belonged to.  
But Jaskier wasn’t just some bard either. He was _his_ bard. The only human who would stick around through everything. Even after seeing the horrible things, he did.  
Geralt knew that it had always been a matter of time, before Jaskier would inevitably leave him for something or someone better. He had never considered that he himself might be the one choosing something else over his companion.

He didn’t realize what he was doing, until it was too late.  
His medallion hung from his outstretched hand. 

“Wait.”

The baron faced him again, a greedy look in his eyes as he snatched the medallion from him. He studied it intensely.  
It had been strange not feeling the cool metal rest on its usual place against his chest. But having it taken away from him completely left him hollow. 

“Now let Jaskier go.” His voice was animalistic. 

The baron must have sensed that he was treading on thin ice, for he touched the glass, to which it retreated into the wall and left enough space for Geralt to step into the cell and get to Jaskier.  
Immediately he unfastened the bounds on his hands and dragged him away from the Siren, before turning him over to look at him. 

“Jaskier! Jaskier, can you hear me?” 

The bard’s eyes were trained on him, but they had an absent look in them. Tears streamed down Jaskier’s face, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just continued humming the Siren’s melody.

“Fuck.”

He had to get him away from the Siren’s alluring song. He lifted Jaskier up and threw him over his shoulder to carry him out of the cell.  
But before he could get out, the glass reappeared. 

Geralt cursed. He sat Jaskier on the ground again carefully, before banging on the glass. Again to no effect. He unsheathed one of his swords and tried using it, but to no avail. 

“Dariusz! We had an agreement!”

His voice must have been loud enough to reach through the barrier, for the baron looked up, mock surprise written on his face. 

“Oh, you doubt my word? I will honour our agreement. But I only received something from you.” He fiddled with the medallion, the sight making hot rage surge through Geralt. “That was in exchange for not keeping you in my exhibition. Your bard must buy his freedom as well.”

Geralt bared his teeth. Every sane human would have run for their life. But Dariusz was safe behind the fucking magic glass and Geralt seriously doubted how sensible he was. 

“This was not what we agreed to.”

The baron only shrugged and made a strange gesture with his free hand. “Don’t fret. I’m not asking for much. Your friend won’t come to harm. But my dear pet is growing hungry. And the bard truly has the most exquisite voice and the most beautiful songs. He will do just fine without his voice and my Siren will be delighted to have it.” 

A slashing sounded behind him. Geralt spun around. The Siren had crawled out of the shallow pond and was lying halfway over Jaskier who was still held captive by her song, harmonizing to it. She caressed his face and pressed her lips to his, drowning his voice.  
Geralt’s blood ran cold. 

He didn’t think, he only reacted. In one swift motion, his sword pierced through the Siren’s body, stopping just short before it could cut Jaskier.  
The Siren’s kiss broke off and she panted, her song ending in one sorrowful note that filled the air. The note turned into a shriek as powerful as only a dying Siren could muster.  
Geralt felt as if his ears were splitting. He flung himself next to Jaskier, casting Quen, but the magic restricting spell didn’t allow him to make the protective barrier big enough for the two of them.  
So he shielded Jaskier. It was a weak shield, easily breakable, but at least it covered Jaskier’s fragile human ears.  
His own ears started to ring. 

Something shattered behind him. Tiny shards of glass cut into his back as he tried to protect Jaskier with his body. 

And then, as sudden as the shrill sound had started, it broke off. Breathing heavily, Geralt looked Jaskier over. He seemed to be fine, apart from the far-away look in his eyes. His lips were moving weakly, but no sound came out. No! Geralt ripped his sword out of Siren’s limp body and pulled her off of Jaskier. 

“Jaskier, talk to me! “ He couldn’t have been too late! He refused to believe it. If Jaskier had lost his voice because of him… “Damn it, Jaskier, just say something!”

The bard blinked and his glazed over eyes found their focus again. Geralt held his breath. He couldn’t have lost his voice to the Siren, he just couldn’t. 

“What happened to telling me to shut up all the time?”

Relief flooded him and he could barely hold himself back from taking Jaskier into an embrace. But he cleared his throat and straightened himself from his crouched position.  
He held one hand out and Jaskier took it gladly, letting Geralt pull him from the floor. He swayed and Geralt steadied him. He guided Jaskier, who leaned heavily on him through the shards on the floor and the broken glass door. 

Once outside, he was greeted by the baron whose eyes were blown wide in shock, blood tickling out of his ears. 

“What the hell was that?,” Dariusz stuttered. “You- She-”

Geralt’s cold stare cut him off. He took his hand off of Jaskier, making sure he was steady, before stepping closer to the baron, cornering him. 

“That’s what happens when you fuck with nature and think you can hold creatures captive that are meant to roam free.” 

Dariusz squinted at him, staring intently at his lips.  
With sudden clarity Geralt realized that he couldn’t hear what he was saying. After the glass had broken, the baron had been unprotected from the Siren’s cry and his ears must have been unable to withstand the sound.  
The baron’s eyes widened as he came to the same conclusion. He backed away until his back hit the wall. He reeked of fear as Geralt came closer to him and ripped his medallion out of Dariusz’s hands. He put it back around his neck and immediately felt calmer. 

Without so much as another look at the baron, he went back to Jaskier and supported him again. His intent was clear, but Geralt was thankful nonetheless when Jaskier said “Let’s get out of this place.” 

Just hearing his voice was enough to let Geralt walk past the frightened baron, though not without shooting him a murderous look. 

Their way out was only halted by the attendant who had guided them through the manor in the first place and to whom Geralt now said “You might want to look after your master. Or quit and leave him. Your choice. But whatever you do, know that I will come back and if I see you helping him ‘collect’ any more creatures or put people into the cages with them, you won’t have much of a choice in anything ever again.”

Geralt put Jaskier down on the bed. He had paid for a room in the inn of the remarkably boring city. Jaskier had complained before of how unspectacular the city was, but Geralt knew that right now, ordinary was exactly what Jaskier needed. 

He had shaken off the last of the Siren’s lingering spell on their way here, but no matter how hard he tried to hide it, Geralt could still see how upset he was about what had happened. 

Geralt made sure that Jaskier was safe and as comfortable as he could be, given the circumstances, before he turned and made for the door. He was of no use for Jaskier here anyway. He wasn’t good with words like Jaskier was and didn’t know how to comfort someone with physical touch either. And judging from other humans’ reaction, Geralt’s presence was about the least calming thing there was.  
But Jaskier made him pause.

“Where are you going?” His voice sounded so small.

“I am going back to that estate. Not all of the creatures Dariusz had kept in there are dangerous and malicious. I will free those who are not and bring them back to where they belong.”

He didn’t say that it would probably take him weeks to do so. He saw in the way Jaskier’s shoulders sagged that he understood even without Geralt putting it into words. And Jaskier also knew that he wouldn’t be coming with Geralt. After what had almost happened to him today, Geralt couldn’t allow Jaskier to throw himself in harm’s way again so soon.  
After he would be done, he’d return to this inn, hoping that Jaskier was still here waiting for him, but not truly expecting him to. 

Jaskier spoke up again. “Are you going to take the Siren to the coast?”

Geralt choked. “You don’t have to worry about her anymore. She is dead. She can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“I am not worried.” 

Jaskier reached out for him and grabbed his hand. A hot sensation spread from where they touched. After that day with the Werebears, Jaskier had taken to hold his hand, whenever he thought, one of them needed comfort. But no matter how often Jaskier reached for him, Geralt didn’t think he would ever get used to the touch. 

Jaskier didn’t seem to be as distracted by the touch as Geralt was, for he continued “Please take her to the coast. No, don’t look at me like that! I am not under her spell anymore. I never really was. Not in the way you think. She didn’t sing to lure me in to…eat me. She sang to distract herself from the pain she was in. It’s what bards have been doing for ages: Sing about your love to endure the heartbreak of being unable to be with them. Her song… you didn’t hear it the way I did, Geralt. She was a prisoner in that cell just like me, with bound wings and a broken voice. She sang of the most beautiful things that would never be hers again. She only wanted to see the ocean again. So please, Geralt, let her see it one last time. Her body is not supposed to rot in that dark stone prison.”

Geralt stared at him. “Jaskier, she tried to take your voice away.”

The bard visibly gulped and Geralt could smell the hint of bitter fear on him. “That she did. And I am so thankful that you stopped her.” He shivered. “But she is a Siren. You know that she is meant to sing with others. She needed another voice to feel like home again. That is as if someone took away my lute. I wouldn’t be complete.” 

Geralt understood only too well. What Jaskier was describing was exactly what he had felt when he had handed over his medallion. Like he was separated from a piece of home. 

“I will take her to the ocean.”

Jaskier gave him a shaky smile.  
“How did you get me out anyway? I don’t remember much apart from the Siren’s song, but I can’t imagine the baron just allowing you to walk into the cell.” 

Had he had a human heart, it would have started racing.  
Jaskier didn’t know what Geralt had almost given away for him. It had been too much, too revealing about himself. Despite his tumbling thoughts, Geralt kept his expression as neutral as possible. 

“I intimidated the baron a bit and he let me in. Easy as that.”

Jaskier squeezed the hand he was still holding. 

“Thank you.” He let out a shaky laugh and added “But honestly, intimidation again? That’s not a really method worthy of a ballad.” He trailed of getting lost in thought for a minute. Geralt didn’t dare speak, while Jaskier hummed a few notes. “But maybe I could write about a mysterious lady singing of the ocean. Maybe ‘the Maiden of the Sea’?” 

Geralt didn’t know what to answer, so he just settled for a non-committal grunt. Jaskier surely would understand. 

The bard sighed wistfully. “You know, she really made the ocean sound lovely. Like a place you could be safe from the world. I have never seen it before. I think I would like to go there someday.” 

“You could do it now.” He felt like there was something else Jaskier was trying to tell him, but he didn’t understand what.

“No, I don’t think I will. I don’t need it to feel safe. I already have my own beautiful thing to sing about right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An amazing devil reference in my fanfic? It's more likely than you think. The line about not singing but screaming in tune comes from the song "Farewell Wanderlust" and if you don't know that song, let me tell you it is one of the most haunting but also most beautiful songs I know.
> 
> I don't if it's worth mentioning here, but the insult " son [and sole heir] of a mongrel-bitch" comes from the Shakespearean play "King Lear". There is almost an entire monologue of insults in that play and I love it so much, I had to put something from that in here. Ah well. 
> 
> Also I just wanted to say that I have absolutely no idea how commas work in English, so please be patient with my horrible grammar. 
> 
> And I know that right now, everything seems kind of unconnected, but trust me, eventually everything will find its place.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)  
> Love, me


	4. Your Woes And Your Mistakes

**Your Woes And Your Mistakes**

Jaskier cowered on his cot, one hand clutching his stomach. He didn’t remember whether he’d done or said something differently or if Cahir was just starting to lose his patience, but when he’d come to Jaskier today, he hadn’t just left shallow cuts and simple punches and repeated his questions.He had snapped. Had kicked and hit Jaskier with all his might. Had ripped his skin open. Had hit his already open cuts. Had let Jaskier’s blood spill onto the floor.  
And through all of it, he had yelled at Jaskier. Questions he wouldn’t get answers to. Insults. Threats. His shouts were far louder than Jaskier’s pleas and yet Jaskier’s voice seemed to ring in his own ears even now after Cahir had left and the door had slammed. 

“I don’t know, I don’t know, please stop, _please_.”

Was he still saying those words? Pleading with a tormenter that was already gone but had left the pain he inflicted behind with Jaskier?  
His split lips hurt and had make blood tumble out along with his words, his melody. Now the only thing left in his mouth was the bitter taste of vomit.  
If there was one good thing that had come of this, it was that Cahir’s armour had gotten covered in Jaskier’s sick after he had punched him in the gut repeatedly. The look on his face had almost been worth the pain. Almost. The armour would get cleaned and surely not even by Cahir himself. Jaskier had to remain here with the taste of his sick, the smell that had accompanied it, the pain that just didn’t fucking leave. 

He had given up shifting around in hopes of finding a position that didn’t send flashes of fire through his bones. It had taken all of his will to drag himself to the cot and collapse onto it. Each movement had felt like he was torn and beaten all over again and the slightest shift had only caused more anguish.  
So he stayed like this, cowering, aching. His only company was the sound of his rattling breath. His eyes were fixed on the ray of light that slowly vanished. 

Normally - if there even was such a thing as normal anymore - someone would have come to him by now; Not Cahir, thank the gods, but some low-ranking soldier or maybe even a servant. They would throw him either a pitying look or a scowl. Some even spit in his face and called him scum, a witcher’s whore. The words had stopped hurting after a while. For no matter how they treated him, they would always bring him food; some broth that he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the ingredients of, cheese if he was lucky and a jug of water that would hopefully last him until they would come back the next day. The food was disgusting and barely enough to still his hunger.  
These past months had already been rough for him. With people unable to pay him for his songs, he had been lucky to be able to afford some halfway decent food. He had thought it had been bad then. Oh, how wrong he had been. But no matter how unsatisfactory the meals were now, at least he was getting fed regularly. 

Except, no one had come by today. The water was almost gone and so was the light. Although his stomach churned at the thought of food and he almost felt the bile rise in his throat again, he would have welcomed the sight of anyone who wasn’t Cahir, if only to be reminded that there were still people who didn’t chase his pain or truths he couldn’t share.  
But no one came.  
Maybe they had better things to do than keep the prisoner alive that was proving to be of no use for them after all.  
A small, irrational part of him wondered, if maybe they didn’t come because they had been attacked. He imagined an army led by the very witcher the Nilfgaardians wanted so desperately to find and use, breaking through the walls of the stolen fort, clashing swords with the black-clad soldiers and finally making his way to his cell and at long last freeing him of his torment.  
But of course there was no witcher coming to his rescue. No army to fight off the enemy. And no friendly face to remind Jaskier that there was more than just this agony. 

When the light had returned to his cell and indicated the next day, Jaskier awoke from his restless sleep. He wasn’t sure why, but a strange sense of utter wrongness creeped up on him. It wasn’t the fact that he was in a cell that gave him this feeling. He was long past that, having accepted that this was where he was to stay. So what was it?  
Jaskier sat wondering, absentmindedly stroking with feather-light touches over the cuts on his arms that were starting to crust. Even his barely-there touch was enough to make him wince.  
It didn’t help that he hadn’t received his food-ration yesterday, however measly it would have been. While he had felt sick at the thought of having to stomach the disgusting broth yesterday, it would have been preferable to the taste of bile that still resided in his mouth even after trying to wash it out with the bit of water that was left. But now what was worse than the lingering taste was the hunger gnawing at him.  
Jaskier couldn’t tell whether the ache came from the beating or the lack of food. He laughed humourlessly. Well, at least, he would have nothing to throw up today when Cahir came to beat him for refusing to be helpful.  
Wait.  
Jaskier’s eyes drifted to the beam of light. It was too bright to still be morning. How had he slept so long without Cahir barging in and waking him for another round of interrogation? He couldn’t imagine Cahir seeing him lying on the cot and deciding to let him sleep peacefully. So where was he? 

Jaskier sat up straighter, looking around the room, just to make sure the knight wasn’t standing in a corner watching him. He wasn’t. As far as Jaskier could see, there were no signs of anyone having come in here since he had left the day before. 

Had Cahir assumed, he had beaten Jaskier to death when he had left him on the floor, bleeding and barely able to move? Or perhaps he had realized that another beating like that could finish the job and decided to give Jaskier’s body time to heal before continuing.  
If that was the case, Cahir was doing a piss poor job of letting him heal.  
As Jaskier sat there, agonizing over whether or not Cahir would come and hurt him again, his stomach was constantly growling. It wasn’t just a reminder that he was hungry. It felt like a hole was eating him from the inside. It became harder to focus. Jaskier stood up and walked through the small cell, from wall to wall and back, hoping that the distraction would bring some relief. It didn’t. If anything, it made sure that he didn’t forget the numerous bruises and cuts that littered his body. 

The day seemed to stretch into eternity. Every little distraction would have been welcome at this point. Anything to keep his mind off the ache from his wounds and the hunger that grew stronger by the minute.  
But no one came. Not Cahir and not the people who made sure he didn’t starve. He went back to his cot, curling in on himself, as if that would somehow sooth the pain. Instead, the ache stayed, became stronger, made it impossible to fall asleep. 

As he writhed, doubling over from the ache in his stomach that just wouldn’t go away, he started doubting that anyone would come for him ever again. The possibility that Cahir had just discarded him, too unimportant to even kill off properly, became more and more likely by the minute. It wouldn’t take long now anyway. The three days he had by now spent without food wouldn’t kill him - though to Jaskier it certainly felt like it could- but he had already drunk the last of his water the day before and it hadn’t been enough to quell his thirst then. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, finding little comfort in the fact that at least he would die without having given Nilfgaard any information they could use. Without being a traitor. Maybe he had even managed to waste Cahir’s time enough to make sure the witcher and the lioncub could flee far enough to be safe. Sluggishly he wondered if his captors still truly believed that the witcher would deem Jaskier important enough to risk his life saving him. He wished he could share the Nilfgaardian’s faith that someone believed him to be worth saving. 

There was no food. No water. Only the ache that had dulled to a throb. Persistent enough that one could almost get used to it. The only companion the growling of his stomach had was the sound of Jaskier’s heart; a steady beat that became the rhythm of a song. Jaskier hadn’t even noticed he had started humming again. His lullaby, the same one as before, but not sung in the trilling, silver voice of a bard, but broken, coming from the cracked, dried up lips and hoarse throat of a prisoner. The melody was almost unrecognizable. But while there was no food or water to fill his mouth, at least he had a melody on his lips. It wasn’t enough but it was the next best thing he had for now. A distraction. Making him forget his pain, if only for a moment, before his body was shaken with coughs and the song broke off with a dissonant note. He needed water. The notes had scratched at his throat, crawling their way out and left it drier than he had thought possible.

“Oh my, it seems the songbird is unable to sing. What a shame.” 

Through tears Jaskier looked up at the owner of the smooth, mocking voice. It was Cahir. How long had he been standing here? Jaskier hadn’t realized just how caught up he had been in his singing that had left him unable to perceive the world around him. 

Cahir stepped closer. Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat, only to speed up again. He didn’t know what to feel. His immediate instinct was to recoil in fear. If Cahir was here, that meant that strikes would follow soon after. But it felt so good to be able to hear another voice and see another face. It meant he hadn’t been forgotten or given up on. 

Cahir lifted something up. A bag he had been holding in one hand. Jaskier’s eyes went wide as they followed the other man’s movement. With deliberate slowness he took something out of the bag. Jaskier swallowed dryly, eyes locked on the apple that Cahir was studying with fake interest. The beast in Jaskier’s stomach reared its ugly head at the sight of the fruit.

“I imagine you are rather hungry.” 

Jaskier nodded. It felt shameful to admit, but he could swallow his pride for the moment if it meant he would get something to eat. 

A smile stretched across Cahir’s face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  
“Well then, I assume you will finally be ready to answer my questions. You help me to find the witcher and I help you to some food.”

His heart sank. He cursed himself for not seeing this coming. It had been so obvious. After physical violence hadn’t worked, Cahir had to resort to other tricks.  
Well, this wouldn’t work either. Jaskier didn’t answer.  
Cahir didn’t seem too put out by his silence. The smile on his face spoke volumes. He was sure it wouldn’t take Jaskier long to break. Jaskier hoped he was wrong.

“You can spare me your tale of how you don’t know the witcher. How you’ve travelled on your own for years.”

“But it’s the truth.” Jaskier made a gesture with his hand to emphasize what his voice couldn’t convey. It was pressed and sounded almost animalistic in its huskiness. 

Cahir didn’t say anything. Instead he took a bite out of the apple. Jaskier eyes widened as he was forced to watch as the juices drippled down Cahir’s chin. 

“Try again. I know that you used to travel with Geralt. Everyone knows that you were the closest he had ever let a person. If anyone knows about where he would be hiding, it is you.”

The sound that left Jaskier’s mouth had more resemblance to a bark than a laugh. “If I’m the closest person to him then he must be truly lonely. We are the farthest thing from what I would call close.”

Another bite. The scrunch that accompanied it made Jaskier wince. He tried not to look at the apple in Cahir’s hand, taunting him, out of reach. 

“Where is he hiding?” 

“What even makes you think that a witcher - experienced fighter and hero of epic tales - would give away his secrets to a _bard_ of all people? We are not exactly known to keep our mouths shut.”

A fact, he was dearly regretting at the moment. Each word was like a small knife scraping at the inside of his throat. But he couldn’t help it. As long as he was talking, he wasn’t able to think about food and what he had to do in order to earn it. What he couldn’t do, no matter how much his body screamed at him. 

Cahir’s eyes narrowed. “And yet, here you stand, refusing to tell me the simplest thing about your friend.”

“And you don’t seem to listen when I do talk. I am not his friend.” His hand clenched into a fist only to unclench again. “Never was. Witchers don’t make friends.” 

And how much he regretted that fact. How much better life would have been, how much brighter, if he had been as close to Geralt of Rivia as Cahir believed.  
But he hadn’t been. He had misjudged and would never be considered a friend to the witcher. 

For a second Jaskier thought the knight would hit him again. As much as his insides clenched at the thought of new bruises joining the old ones, he was almost eager for it in a twisted way. He’d rather go back to the old routine than this cruel game.  
But Cahir only took yet another bite. 

“Your songs tell a different story.”

Jaskier blinked at him. What on earth could Cahir had gotten out of his songs that made him think he’d be the one to spill Geralt’s secrets?  
When he didn’t answer, Cahir continued, plain impatience colouring his voice, though he tried to mask it with a false sweetness that fit him about as well as silence befitted Jaskier.

“You know your songs really show how close you two were. So why don’t you tell me more about that?”

“I didn’t write them. You have the wrong bard.”

Cahir scoffed. “And who, pray tell, is the bard we are looking for then?”

Jaskier bit his lip. He couldn’t very well damn another bard to suffer like this in his stead, although there certainly was one specific bastard who surely would have deserved it. Jaskier kept his mouth shut and averted his eyes. 

Cahir scoffed. “That’s what I thought.” He made a pause as if gathering his thoughts as to how to reach Jaskier. Finally, he settled on “You must miss singing for an audience. So why don’t you be a good songbird and sing for me? It is important. I _need_ to know where the princess is.”

Too bad. Because Jaskier needed to make sure the princess was alright. He hadn’t known her for long, but it had been enough to ensure that Jaskier would protect her from falling into the clutches of this man whose cruelty shone from his eyes.  
Cahir leaned forwards eagerly as Jaskier opened his mouth to say exactly that. But instead of words only a scratching sound followed by a fit of coughs came out of his mouth. 

Without warning Cahir grabbed Jaskier’s head as he had done that first day. Except now there was no pretence of gentleness. Jaskier tried to push the man away, but to no avail. Cahir’s hand found his hair despite the bard’s struggle and twisted in it, pulling his head back forcefully.  
Jaskier opened his mouth to scream. No sound left him. The hoarse noise that would have come out was prevented by a flask being shoved onto his open lips, slamming against his teeth. He had wanted water, had needed it, but now as the water was forced down his throat, it felt like he would drown in it. He was torn between coughing it back up and greedily drinking every drop he could get. He felt the water spill out of his mouth, run over his face and drip into his shirt. An uncomfortably cold sensation settled in his chest and he felt a sudden dizziness overcome him. He swayed, holding onto the one thing that was there. Cahir. He took the flask away and Jaskier felt the sudden loss heavily. Who knew when he would get the chance to drink again? The thought alone was enough to make him consider doing whatever it was Cahir wanted from him.  
But the thought of the small princess and the witcher - who Jaskier had admired for decades and who Cahir seemed convinced, looked after Cirilla and kept her safe - made a wave of shame and determination wash over him. 

He gathered his renewed saliva and spat in Cahir’s face. His rash action was met with a fist colliding with his chin. Jaskier’s mouth twisted into an empty smile. So Cahir had lost his temper again. For a knight he really exhibited no self-control.  
The man raised his hand, ready to strike again, when he froze mid-air. With a deep exhale, he dropped his hand and slowly eased the tension from his fist. 

“We’ll see how much longer you will be able to keep up this attitude. I will come back tomorrow. I hope for your sake that you’ll make the right call then.”

And Jaskier did. He made the right decision time and time again.  
No matter how much his body begged for relief from the hunger, no word left his mouth but insults and the melody that had recurred now that he was able to sing again.  
His pitcher was filled with water once more, if only enough to ensure he wouldn’t die, but he was still denied food, being taunted with it, whenever Cahir came to him with his questions, so many questions that he would never get an answer to. Even if Jaskier had wanted to answer, by now his mind was only filled by his song. 

It took only a couple of days, judging from the fading and returning light and regular visits from Cahir, until his interrogator seemed to realize that denying Jaskier food proved fruitless. He was needed alive after all, even if he hadn’t been useful as of now. 

Jaskier didn’t notice much of that mind-set tough, as his head was slammed into the wall behind him. His vision became blurry, dark spots dancing before his eyes. He saw Cahir’s mouth move, but no sound reached him. A fog swirled through his mind, allowing only the sound of his heavy breathing, his beating heart and that insufferably shrill ringing in his ears.  
He slumped to the ground, his legs unable to hold him up any longer. His limbs felt disconnected from him somehow, as if they moved on their own accord, as Jaskier pressed his hands against his head, trying to stop the sensation of a hundred angry hammers pounding from inside of it. He couldn’t focus. His thoughts slipped through his fingers, before he could grasp them.  
He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, couldn’t tell if he was alone again or if Cahir was continuing his screaming and hurting. 

He must have left though, for when Jaskier’s vision slowly returned someone came in. Jaskier couldn’t make out anything but their blurry silhouette, but their appearance wasn’t followed by pain, so it couldn’t be Cahir.  
Jaskier sat up, ignoring the insistent throbbing in his head and watched what must be a guard get closer to him, a bowl of broth in their hands. It was a smaller portion than before and Jaskier wasn’t able to discern the chunks that swam in it, but it was food; blessed food!  
Like a starving animal, he gobbled it down. His hand holding the bowl was shaking and he spilled some of the broth onto his clothes. It tasted as gross as it looked and he wasn’t able to chew the chunks of what might have been meat properly, but to him it felt like this meal was the best thing he had eaten in his entire life.  
Absentmindedly he heard a disgusted scoff, but he didn’t care. He had to eat it all before the food would be taken away from him. Before he would not be able to…eat anymore… Before….

Something was wrong. The spoon slipped out of his hands and landed with a startling clatter on the floor. He couldn’t feel his hands, as if he lost all control of his body. His head hurt. The deafening pressure on his ears returned.

The last clear thought he had was how fortunate it was that he was already on the floor, so he wouldn’t fall again, as his consciousness slipped from him and he was embraced by darkness.

**12 years into their friendship**

Geralt was drenched to the bone. His boots left muddy footprints on the tavern’s floor as he made his way to a table in the corner. He sat down in a way that he could overlook the entire tavern. Not that he’d be staying long enough for trouble to arise. He was just here to warm up and hopefully get his clothes somewhat dry before he was off to the road again.  
In better times, he would have bought a nice warm bath and a hearty meal. But work had been sparse these past weeks and he was as good as out of money.  
Normally that wouldn’t be too big of a problem. He could just hunt his own food. But in this piss-weather that’s been going on for days, no animal was stupid enough to leave its hide.

Geralt could feel his stomach clench uncomfortably. Witchers could go without food for longer than humans, but after days of not eating anything at all and even longer since he had could afford anything satisfying, he was really beginning to grow restless. If he continued to go without a proper meal, he might get to slow to fight properly. It had happened to Lambert once. He had thought himself invincible, but had barely made it out alive. The scar on his face was an ugly reminder that even witchers weren’t above basic needs.  
But what was he supposed to do? As long as he had no money he couldn’t buy a real meal. He just hoped he’d find a contract soon. 

Geralt noticed someone coming towards him. Still, he was startled when the waitress placed something on the table in front of him. The smell of the pie made his stomach constrict painfully. 

“I didn’t order this.” 

“No, but someone else did. They said to send it to you, their treat.” She winked at him with a grin. “You must have an admirer. Or well,… someone just saw how miserable you looked.”

The last sentence was muttered. She clearly thought he couldn’t hear her. He left her in that belief and grunted in response. Though she hadn’t intended for him to hear that last remark, he knew that it was true. Though he wouldn’t have used the word ‘miserable’. He thought he looked more along the lines of pathetic. At least Vesemir wasn’t here to berate him. Geralt would never hear the end of it. 

The waitress left and Geralt pulled the plate with the pie closer. It smelled normal, if a bit plain. He noticed no poison.  
His eyes shifted around the room. No one was looking at him. At least not differently from the normal looks he received from people who either stared at him with blatant disgust or tried to shoot inconspicuous glances at him to see if he was dangerous. But no one seemed to wait for his reaction to the pie.  
If there was someone who hated witchers more than usual, poisoning him with a pie surely wouldn’t be the most elegant way to kill him. People tended to be more on the nose and dramatic, challenging him openly. 

Still, he scanned the room again, just to be safe, before looking back at the plate. He shouldn’t eat something a stranger had given him, bit his stomach twisted painfully at the thought of letting the food go slighted. He was resistant against most human poisons after all and if he only ate a little bit, he would surely be able to taste if something was wrong with the pie. 

So he took a bite. And there was something very wrong. It was a fucking fillingless pie.  
Jaskier, that little shit. 

The smug little shit suddenly emerged from the shadows, holding a plate of his own. He made a grand show of ‘realizing’ Geralt was here, before he joined him at his table. 

“Geralt, my dear friend, what a surprise to see you here!”

A surprise, sure. For a bard, this acting had about the same subtlety of a rock hitting you in the face.  
Jaskier ignored Geralt’s unimpressed expression and continued his charade, taking a huge bite out of his own pie. A piece of the blueberry-filling stuck to the corner of his mouth.

“Hhmmm, I must say these are without a doubt the best pies I have ever eaten.” He moaned again in an exaggerated way. “Soo good. Especially that great filling. I would sing a song about it- but oh, I forgot. Apparently my voice is unworthy of good pie.”

Geralt grunted. “You really went through the trouble of ordering a fillingless pie for me and then hide in the shadows until I ate it? That is a new level of pettiness for you.” 

Though to be honest, he was almost impressed by his bard’s dedication. It must have been hard for his colourful and loud friend to stay quiet for long enough to pull this off.  
Jaskier made a dismissive gesture before lowering his hands under the table and out of Geralt’s sight. 

“Oh, it wasn’t hard. I have travelled with you long enough to know what you’d be looking out for. I know how to look unsuspicious to you.”

“So you know how to hide things from me?” 

His accusation was more teasing than serious, but Jaskier laughed almost nervously.

“Of course not. I am a bard. I’m not good at hiding things.” 

Geralt hummed. It was true. Jaskier carried his heart on his sleeve. 

Geralt resumed eating his plain pie. It was awful, but he had deserved it for insulting Jaskier. Though of course he wouldn’t take his comment about his singing back, even if it hadn’t been completely honest. Seeing Jaskier riled up with his eyes ablaze was always a sight to behold.  
And who was he to complain anyway? He had food now, even if it wasn’t very good. 

Jaskier looked at him strangely as he took another bite. 

“Are you really going to eat that? You don’t have to prove a point to me, my friend. I know that you like me even if you think I am a fillingless pie or whatever it is you want to tell me with that.” Of course the bard would interpret every little thing like he had probably done in Oxenfurt with poems and songs. “It’s sweet, but you can just order a new pie, you know.” 

No, he couldn’t. That was the whole point.  
Geralt didn’t respond and just continued eating. It was so dry. 

Jaskier pushed his own plate in the middle of the table. Geralt furrowed his brows. 

“Jaskier, what…”

Jaskier shrugged nonchalantly. “I am already full. I have only brought this pie for dramatic effect. You can have it.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. He was fairly certain that Jaskier was lying again. He had this tell where his hands would still when he wasn’t telling the truth. Normally they would be flying all over the place or fiddle with something. But now they were resting on the table far too calmly. 

Geralt pushed the plate back, although his stomach protested. He would not let Jaskier go without food if he could help it.  
The plate was stopped by Jaskier who gently pushed it back in Geralt’s direction. Or at least he tried. The plate didn’t budge. The only reason why it didn’t move further towards Jaskier was that Geralt didn’t want to accidently hurt Jaskier’s fingers if he pushed to forcefully.  
Only because Jaskier wouldn’t stop complaining about not being able to play the lute anymore, of course. 

The bard sighed dramatically and took his hands of the plate.  
“Fine. But I am not eating all of it. We can share.”

“I don’t need-“

“We can share,” Jaskier said more firmly, not allowing any more protest. 

Geralt’s lips twitched. Only Jaskier would dare order him around like this and over pie of all things. So he yielded to the demands of his bard to take care of himself. 

“So how come you don’t have any money left? Have times really been that hard for you?,” Jaskier asked while chewing.

There was no such thing as times that weren’t hard for a witcher. Jaskier was well aware of that. He had been his on-and-of travel companion for long enough to have noticed that more often than not, it was Jaskier’s money that brought them a nice warm place to stay. 

“Well, today’s your lucky day,” Jaskier continued when Geralt didn’t react. “I just so happen to know about some nobles throwing a ball tomorrow where something is about to go awry.”

“What do you mean ‘go awry’?”

Jaskier shrugged and took another bite. “I don’t know. But someone told me that some bad things will go down there.”

Geralt leaned back. “And who gave you that very detailed information?”

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m not making this up. I was told by a lovely lady I had the pleasure to get acquainted with. She works for the nobles who organize the feast and she heard some things. Strange things.” 

Geralt perked up. More often than not, it was the servants and other people that were regarded as unimportant by their superiors who knew when something was afoot. Although sometimes gossip was just that. And it wouldn’t be the first time someone made up tall tales of danger to seem mysterious and make themselves more interesting to the bard. As if that was necessary.

“Anything more specific?”

Jaskier squirmed in his seat. “Well, no. She was scared she would get in trouble if she told me. But…” He trailed of. 

“But what?”

“But I might have said that I know a thing or two about how to deal with dangerous things and that I would take a look around at the ball.”

Of course Jaskier would offer to play the knight in shining armour. “Fine. You go then,” Geralt said nonchalantly, though he didn’t truly mean it. If there really was something afoot, he would go with Jaskier. 

“What? Geralt, no, you have to come with me!” 

The corner of Geralt’s mouth lifted as he watched the bard wave his hands in agitation.  
“I thought you knew about dealing with dangerous things.”

“I do! I have watched you long enough to pick up some stuff. But while I protect the lady, you can protect me! And I’m sure, she’ll make a contract out of that.” With every word he became more exited. “Oh, don’t try to deny it, you are intrigued!” 

He wasn’t. But he didn’t have much of a choice when Jaskier was determined to dive head-first into a possibly dangerous and definitely foolish situation. 

“Fine. I will go and see if anything is wrong. Without you getting involved.” 

There was no way Jaskier would agree. But sometimes, it was nice to hear him say that he wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t always stay with him, of course. There would come a day –and Geralt was surprised it hadn’t arrived yet- that Jaskier wouldn’t want to stay with him anymore. So Geralt would always give him an out. A chance to realize that life on the path with a witcher wasn’t for him. Or a chance to tell him how foolish he was for thinking he’d leave.

Jaskier threw his head back, laughing.  
“Oh no no no, my dear, you don’t honestly believe I will let you face a courtly feast on your own. Might I remind you, I have seen how you behave in high society when you are under supervision and that was bad enough. Just imagine how you would fare on your own! You need someone to use words for you and that someone is me.” 

Geralt winced at the thought of what had happened last time. After the disaster that was Princess Pavetta’s betrothal feast, he had promised himself to stay away from such occasions. Evidently that was one promise he wouldn’t be able to keep. Not when Jaskier’s eyes shone like that and his hands flew through the air in his excitement.

“Also, you can’t go alone, my dear wolf, because you need me, the troubadour of highest renown and personal friend of a lovely servant-lady, to get in there.”

He sighed. “Don’t you dare dress me up as a sad silk-trader again.” 

Jaskier gasped dramatically. “I’ll have you know that I am still deeply offended by that comment! I have put a lot of effort into that. And you looked…” he broke off, eyes wide and his hands eerily still suddenly. “fine. You looked just fine.” 

A light pink colour spread across his cheeks.  
Geralt grunted. 

“But don’t worry, my dear. For tomorrow, I have something better in mind.”

It wasn’t better. It was so much worse.  
The guard at the door gave him a curious look as Jaskier produced the invitation that the servant had somehow managed to get him. 

“This invitation is only for one person,” the guard said while looking the invitation over. “Julian Alfred Pankrantz.”

He saw Jaskier wince at his old name and his hand that had been holding Geralt’s hand all this while, gripped him tighter. Geralt knew that he had distanced himself from that name as far as possible. But the servant girl had insisted that the name Pankrantz would open the door for Jaskier.  
Geralt squeezed back reassuringly, but the tension didn’t leave his friend.  
His voice was pressed as he answered.

“Yes, that is me.” 

They both knew that he wasn’t. His friend hadn’t been Julian Alfred Pankrantz for a long time, possibly not ever. It even felt unfamiliar and strange for Geralt to hear that name. How must it be for his friend?

He couldn’t help himself as he grumbled in a low voice “His real name is Jaskier.”

He wasn’t sure whether the guard had heard him, for he ignored his interjection, but he was gifted a radiating smile by the bard. 

“And this is Geralt. I was led to believe that I may bring an escort.” 

The guard looked Geralt up and down. He could spy no weapons, of course. He had hidden a dagger inside of Jaskier’s lute case. The guard’s gaze lingered for a moment on the flower embroidery on his doublet that was thankfully a dark red colour instead of a bright one and his hair that was braided back. 

When Jaskier had suggested braiding it, Geralt had been tempted to just leave the room and this city and the bard with these ridiculous ideas.  
He didn’t though. Instead he had sat on the bed while Jaskier’s fingers combed through his hair. Geralt had let out more than one long-suffering sigh for good measure to show that he was very much against this whole idea and Jaskier better watch it. But apart from that, he had sat as still as he could, lest Jaskier took his unspoken threats and complaints that he didn’t mean to heart and actually stopped.  
Jaskier had messed up multiple times, loosening the braid and starting anew and Geralt found that he wasn’t bothered about the additional time of Jaskier running his hands through his hair. 

Now though, as they walked past the guard and entered the ball-room, he felt strangely self-conscious about it. He was used to people looking at him with fear in their eyes, but now he imagined amusement and mockery in each pair of eyes that was trained his way. 

“This is no time for your scary face. Not yet anyway.” Jaskier turned to him brightly and added a bit quieter “And you don’t have to worry. The braids suit you.”

Something warm blossomed in his chest when Jaskier looked at him like that. It was different from when they had first travelled together. Then he had been mostly dismissive and confused by the way Jaskier seemed to see him. It had been nice, but he hadn’t taken it fully serious. Geralt had thought he was only a brief fascination for the bard.  
But then the nice words have come more frequently and sometimes he would feel this strange sensation of rightness. He had thought he’d get used to it and stop having this distracting reaction. But it had happened more often recently. 

He quickly averted his eyes. In hopes of deflecting Jaskier’s attention away from him, he scanned the room. It was full of nobles, dressed in colourful and extravagant clothes, some even had elaborate head-pieces. Some servants were walking around, offering help to the guest, but none approached Jaskier. His servant-girl must be working at the kitchen at the moment.  
Nothing was unusual.  
Except for the fact that his medallion was stirring under his doublet. 

“Is everything alright?,” Jaskier asked, as if he had already forgotten the purpose of their being here. 

Geralt hummed. “Your acquaintance was right. Keep your eyes open for anything unusual.” 

Not that he expected his bard to be particularly focussed on finding the threat when instead he could find his servant-girl or some other pretty face.  
For some unknown reason his heart sank at the thought. But Jaskier nodded, suddenly looking serious.

“I’ll go ask around if I can find out something,” Jaskier said and made to leave Geralt’s side.

“Try to be at least a bit subtle about it.”

“Geralt, please, you know I can be subtle.” 

He turned around mid-walk and spread his arms wide as if to disprove his words on the spot and with a skip in his step, he left Gerlat to his own devices. 

The sudden emptiness of his hand felt wrong.  
Geralt had never been overly fond of being touched. He had come to associate touch with pain, scorn and the smell of anger and fear. But Jaskier… he had made Geralt feel somewhat safe by holding his hand. Witchers were always on high alert and never felt completely safe. And Geralt knew that the hand-holding had only been another one of Jaskier’s oh so brilliant ideas of how to make Geralt seem harmless enough to be allowed inside as his escort. But still, it had felt right. 

Geralt forced himself to look away from Jaskier’s retreating form. He took his time watching the people around him. No one seemed to act strangely. The only thing apart from the insistent tugging of his medallion that alluded to a non-human being here, was the decked tables to the sides of the room. There was no silverware to be found. So whatever creature was here had not come here without the host’s knowledge. 

After another few minutes of fruitless observation, he returned to Jaskier’s side. His friend looked unusually tense and his eyes were fixed on something to the far end of the room.  
Geralt’s brows drew together. 

“Have you found what’s wrong?”

Jaskier scoffed. “What’s wrong is that bastard’s wardrobe.” 

“What?” Geralt tried to follow Jaskier’s eyes, but he couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. 

“Let’s leave.” Jasier tugged at Geralt’s wrist, but Geralt stayed where he was.

“What do you mean leave? You were the one who said we should come here and rightfully so. And there are beasts here, I can feel it.”

“There is certainly one beast,” Jaskier muttered without further explanation as he realized that Geralt wasn’t going to budge.

It was like a stab in his chest. Jaskier had never called him a beast. Not once, not even when he had been furious. So what was so bad here that made Jaskier finally say it?

But Jaskier didn’t explain himself. He just tried to stand in a way that he could keep an eye on whatever it was that had him so agitated, without being seen himself too easily himself.  
As Jaskier’s irritation grew, his fidgeting became worse. 

Geralt still couldn’t make out anything that could have Jaskier in such a state.  
Except the man wearing a flashy purple outfit who was now making his way towards them. He was carrying a wine glass that he was swirling lazily. 

Jaskier stiffened beside him, but relaxed forcibly when the other man came to a halt before them.

“Julian, what a surprise to see you at such a high-class feast! You know I always admired that you stuck to the style suited best for you and performed on the streets and in taverns. So to what do I owe the pleasure to see you here?” His smile that was framed by a thin beard was about as sincere as that of a snake. 

Jaskier’s put on a smile to match. Geralt had never seen an expression so sweet and yet so full of barely concealed venom on his face.

“I could say the same about you, Valdo. I thought you would stay in Cidaris. I was so happy that you have found a place there to stay. It must be wonderful for you to have an audience that never changes its taste, so you don’t have to ever enhance your repertoire.”

Valdo’s smile stretched a bit thinner. “I am here on personal invitation of the duchess. She asked for my music to accompany the dance. I am not sure though if you would enjoy my performance.”  
Valdo didn’t let Jaskier’s muttered “No doubt” deter him. He stoically continued.  
“We do have very different views of what is appropriative for court after all. I understand you have not played at a banquet in years. Last I heard, you sang a quaint song about a fishmonger for Queen Calanthe? I applaud your bravery. Not many bards would have dared to play the same songs for royalty as they would for the common-folk.”

Geralt scowled. “The Queen asked for a jig.”

“How gracious of her to not demand that my dear friend Julian leave his field of expertise.” Valdo’s eyes briefly looked Geralt over with a condensing smirk, before turning back to Jaskier.  
“I assume this is the famous witcher. It is good to hear that you have found a muse that doesn’t leave after one song you sang about them. Although he looks different than how I imagined. Tamer. Not at all like he’d be worthy of being the hero of a ballad.”

He did have a point. Right now Geralt looked as tame as a lamb in contrast to Jaskier, who was fuming with ebullient anger.

Jaskier visibly forced himself to calm down, at least on the outside, though he still had a look in his eyes as if he would very much like to punch Valdo in the face, but instead he shrugged with pointed nonchalance. 

“Your looks have changed as well. Last time I saw you, you didn’t have that fetching beard. It reminds me a bit of the devil Geralt fought on our first adventure. It has a little something of a goat.”

Ice seeped out of Valdo’s stare. “You do seem to have a strange fixation on goats, don’t you? That song about producing a Faun as a grandson. That pun of the niveau that even the last drunkard could understand it – what was it… ‘he can’t be bleat?’ One might almost think your true muse was a goat, Julian.”

“His name is Jaskier.” Geralt was louder this time than he had been with the guard. “And don’t worry, he won’t write a song about you. Even when he sings of animals, he has standard that you don’t meet, goat.” 

It wasn’t the best insult he had ever dealt by far, but Jaskier’s snort made it feel as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever said. Valdo looked at him scandalized, before turning his attention back to Jaskier and switched to an expression of mock-recognition.

“Ah yes, I had almost forgotten. You named yourself after that boring little flower that no one would ever pick. I always admired your self-awareness.”  
Jaskier’s face was the epitome of hatred. Valdo paid him no heed. He finished his wine in one go.  
“It was lovely talking to you again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some real music to play. Maybe you can learn something from it. Though of course, from how low you have sunken, you could learn from virtually anyone.” 

He turned around and left. As soon as he had disappeared, Jaskier deflated.  
Geralt’s chest clenched painfully at the sight. He would have preferred seeing Jaskier angry over him being so…defeated. 

“So that was the infamous Valdo Marx.” He offered lamely. “I start to understand your wish.”

Jaskier huffed. It wasn’t a full laugh by any means, but he did seem to lighten up slightly. 

“You know I might have been slightly drunk while making that wish. I wouldn’t actually want a fellow bard to die, no matter how horrible he is.”

“But you would like to punch and scratch his face.”

“I would, if I thought that scratching could make it any worse, but this ugly beard does the job just fine.”

There was an awkward pause. Jaskier shuffled around nervously and fiddled with his fingers. It almost looked like he awaited some sort of judgment.  
Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t really believe what he said, do you?,” he asked.

“Not really. I couldn’t give two shits about what that arsehole has to say about me.” Reluctantly, Jaskier looked at him. “But what if he’s not the only one that thinks so? What if yo- I mean someone else also thinks I’m not good enough?” 

“Then you go and prove them wrong.”

The opportunity for that arose fairly quickly.  
Valdo Marx had made a big show of tuning his instrument and to his dismay that gave the hostess of the ball plenty of time to notice that another bard was in their midst. 

“Why settle for a standard performance, when we can have a duet?” The woman with the feathered hat that almost completely covered her red locks, spoke with a strange accent that was unfamiliar to Geralt. 

Jaskier was ushered towards Valdo who looked absolutely pissed. Geralt wasn’t sure whether Jaskier thrived at the prospect of outshining his rival or if he cursed the heavens and everything beneath it that he was forced to play with him.

The tension between the two bards prickled through the air as they started playing.  
Valdo sang first. He wasn’t bad. Geralt didn’t know much about music, but he understood why Jaskier saw him as his rival. As far as he could tell, the bard hit every note and had a good voice. But he also understood Jaskier’s distaste. Valdo’s voice didn’t come close to carrying the passion that Geralt in his years of knowing Jaskier, had come to associate with singing.  
Jaskier joined in and immediately Geralt relaxed. There was that spark that had been missing.

He listened to the bards trying to outdo each other, while he went back to observing the attendees of the feast. Most of them were dancing, while some stood to the side eating the appetizers that the servants carried around. Nothing suspicious. 

The song ended, people applauded and a new song was stroke up. The cast of dancers changed. Only the hostess of the feast began a second dance with the same dark-haired lady she had danced with before. Most other dancers were to exhausted and needed to drink something to calm their beating hearts.  
Geralt stalked across the room like a wolf sniffing out his prey, but he found nothing. Only people talking, some of them with the same accent the hostess had displayed.

After what felt like an hour of Jaskier’s and Valdo’s battle of music, and Geralt fruitlessly looking around, his friend returned to his side. 

He was lacking the glow he usually emitted after a performance. Singing with his rival must have been worse for him than Geralt had thought.  
Amidst the merriment of eating and drinking that was happening around them, Jaskier was strangely quiet. A whiff of nervousness passed Geralt. What was he nervous about? He had heard Jaskier play a hundred times before, so it couldn’t be that he thought Geralt would dislike his performance.  
Jaskier glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and back again, when he noticed Geralt looking at him.  
A sudden thought prodded at Geralt’s mind. No, it couldn’t be. But maybe… this had been the first time he had seen Jaskier play in comparison with someone else. He couldn’t truly believe that Geralt thought Valdo better than him, could he? It was ridiculous. But just to be sure he said the first thing that came to mind. 

“It’s like ordering ale and finding it is non-alcoholic.” 

He spent far too much time listening to Jaskier’s poetry. This was the second time Geralt had used bad metaphors to describe something. Jaskier stared at him in confusion. 

“What is?” 

“That arsehole’s singing.” 

Jaskier snorted with an air of righteousness. “Damn right it is. Wait- is that better or worse than being a fillingless pie?” 

So it really had been about that. Geralt hummed instead of giving a reply as he so often did, but Jaskier put his hands on his hips and lifted his chin in a demanding manner. 

“Oh no, you do not get away with saying that and then not elaborating! Which is worse?”

“Does it matter? You know I don’t know much about music.”

A genuine gasp escaped the bard. “Oh course it matters what you think!”

“The ale is worse. You can’t even get drunk enough to endure his bleating.” 

Jaskier’s shoulders sagged as his tension left him all of the sudden. His smile was enough to send that strange warm feeling through Geralt again. 

As if to tell his rival that Geralt preferred his singing, Jaskier turned to where Valdo was standing few feet away, just enough to be out of earshot for a casual conversation.  
The flame-haired hostess and her lady-friend who was leaning on her arm, hung at Valdo’s lips for every word he spoke. The troubadour of Cidaris noticed Jaskier’s look and raised his goblet to Jaskiier in a mock toast, before focussing his attention on the ladies again. 

He never got to finish his wine. Geralt watched as he started to sway and look at his wine in disbelief, before the goblet slipped from his hand and landed on the floor with a loud clang.  
The bard followed short after. 

Geralt ignored the shocked gasps and murmurs as he ran towards the man lying on the ground. He didn’t move, not even a single finger twitching. Geralt strained his ears to find a heartbeat. He scooped up the goblet and sniffed at it. Underneath the wine there was a faint sweet smell. It almost escaped Geralt. This couldn’t have been enough to make a full-grown man drop like this. 

Through the array of shocked exclamations and people trying to get away or shuffling closer to get a better look, one voice stood out. It was Jaskier’s.

“Oh no… what a tragedy. Heavens help, if only there was something to be done, but alas, there isn’t. The troubadour of Cidaris will be remembered for his most woeful death and-“

“He isn’t dead,” Geralt growled. He sincerely hoped that his friend hadn’t been foolish enough to poison his rival here in front of everybody. “The poison he drank isn’t deadly, it just put him in a very deep sleep.” 

Instead of the tension easing as he had hoped, it flared up anew with a loud thud.  
Geralt whirled around, as did everyone else. A noble lady had fallen to the ground as well. 

Someone demanded everyone remain calm.  
The voice was drowned out by a scream as yet another guest started to tumble. Someone managed to catch them as they fell, but soon they followed suit. Valdo and the other victims were carried off to a medic. 

Everyone stared in discomfort after them, before the hostess with a forced smile told everyone that the fallen guests must have eaten something wrong, but no cause for alarm.  
Reluctantly the festivities continued while the servants were ordered to throw out all the food that contained for fear of the poison. 

It didn’t take long until the shallow pretence that everything was fine crumbled.  
One by one, people were dropping like flies. Geralt cursed as he rushed to inspect the next victim. The longer they stayed down, the more they seemed to be able to move again. Their faces broke through the rigidity to contort into masks of sheer horror, like they were suffering nightmares. 

Fuck. This left only one conclusion, but this type of monster would never prey on so many victims.  
Except, if the creature wasn’t hunting alone.

“Geralt!” Jaskier’s panicked voice reached him and made his head snap up in an instant. In three long strides Geralt had made it to his friend and grabbed him by the arms. 

“Jaskier, did you eat anything?” He searched Jaskier’s eyes for any sign of drowsiness. 

The bard shook his head. “No, I’m fine. But Geralt, what’s going on?” 

“I need you to get away.” 

“What, no, I am not going to leave you alone!”

Geralt’s grip on him tightened. “This is no time to argue.”

“Exactly! If this is dangerous, I can’t just let you –“

“Get away Jaskier! You run to that servant girl of yours and you hide with her until I come get you. Go!”

He left Jaskier no room to protest, though Jaskier’s eyes shimmered with concern. With clear hesitation Jaskier shoved his lute case with the hidden a silver dagger at Geralt and after a rushed “be careful, my dear” he ran out of the room. 

After he had made sure Jaskier was gone, faced the chaos around him again.  
By now only a handful of people were still standing. They looked at him expectantly. His hairs stood on end. He wasn’t faced with the expectation to help them and find who had poisoned them.  
They were waiting for him to drop as well. It didn’t seem like they were afraid at all. 

After a while, one of them nervously shifted his weight from one food to the other. Geralt’s eyes drifted over the remaining people. All of them had red hair and some form of headpiece covering their ears. Red hair and strange ears could only mean one thing.  
His suspicions had been right. They were Alps. They weren’t as powerful as Bruxae, but there were at least ten of them. His jaw set tightly. He had never heard of Alps hunting in packs. They were bad enough on their own.

As inconspicuously as possible, he took the silver dagger out of its hiding spot. The Alps immediately took notice. 

“ _Witcher_!” 

The accent filled voices repeated the word to each other. Geralt could finally place the accent. He hadn’t been able to figure out what language it resembled, because it was no human language. It was Vampire speak. 

Geralt’s face remained expressionless. “And you are Alps. Since when do Vampires infiltrate feasts?”

One of the creatures assessed him sharply, before taking of their hat, revealing the pointed ears that could almost be mistaken for elfish features. They cocked their head to the side. 

“We did not infiltrate. We _invited_ to a feast and a feast we shall have.” 

Geralt gripped his weapon tighter. “This is a lot of effort for a meal. It must have taken you a long time to figure out how to distribute your anesthetic so it doesn’t make your victims fall asleep immediately.”

Normally they would inject their prey in a way that left them immediately incapacitated. It was a cruel venom that make their victims suffer through nightmares and rendering them unable to even try and defend themselves, even if they had no chance to begin with.  
This was a different calibre. They had made sure, everyone who ate or drank something, which must have been everyone except him and Jaskier, had slowly been poisoning themselves. It must have been too little of the somniferous serum to take its effect immediately, but just enough that everyone who had been affected had slowly but surely fallen into an involuntary sleep at roughly the same time.  
This wasn’t a simple meal for the vampires. It was a banquet. 

Another Alp - the hostess Geralt realized - spoke up. “What do you know of waiting? A long time for a human means nothing to us. Planning this was but the time it takes to blink compared to how long we have been starving. A human could never understand the insatiable need for us to feed.”

“I am no human.”

There was no warning, but Geralt had expected the attack. The talking Alps must have been a mere distraction, for two of their kind had slowly circled Gerald.  
With lightning speed, they darted for him. Their fingers had grown into claws and their teeth shifted into fangs that they were burning to get burry in his flesh.

With a half-pirouette, Geralt dodged the first Vampire while slashing with his dagger for the second. The dagger hit its mark. The Alp’s eyes opened wide and filled with shock, staring at the silver dagger that was plunged deep into their chest. The creature made no sound as the realization crashed over them. They would not survive this.  
Geralt ripped the dagger out, but didn’t watch the body drop dead. He whirled around to block the next attack, claws scratching for his face.  
Again, he thrust his weapon towards his aggressor. But the Alp dodged his attack with a speed that made it almost impossible for Geralt’s eyes to follow the movement.  
He felt a sharp sting on his shoulder as another Alp buried their claws into his flesh from behind. He threw them off and readied himself for another attack.  
Alps were not used to hunting in groups. So if Geralt was lucky, they would be uncoordinated. But a witcher should never rely on luck.  
He shifted his weigh so that he could easily parry an attack, no matter from which direction it came.  
But instead of claws and teeth, he was pierced by an ear-splitting shriek. He stumbled backwards as if he could escape the noise that filled the air and threatened to crush him. It took all of his strength to remain upright and not crumble to the floor. The shrieking ended, but it left a disorientating ringing in his ears. He shook his head to get rid of it. It didn’t work. 

Geralt bared his teeth and charged at the Vampires. If he failed now, dozens of people would die. He couldn’t let this happen. He threw the sign Aard at the Vampires. They were flung back, hitting the walls together with the chairs and tables that were also blown back by the force. 

He had to be fast. Even if some of the creatures had broken their necks from the impact, it would only be a mild inconvenience for them. Every moment he wasted meant time in which they could heal and regenerate their bodies. 

A man, even a mutated one could never match the speed of an Alp. But as Geralt dashed through the room, slashing at the knocked out Vampires and ending their lives with a flash of silver, he resembled a storm that appeared within seconds, wrecked everything in its way and ended its rampage before anyone had time to seek shelter.  
The storm calmed. 

Geralt stood in the middle of the room, towering over the dead Alps, amidst the chaos and destruction he had left in his wake. No sound was to be heard. 

Geralt didn’t move, until the attendees of the feast started to wake, groaning. Their minds, still tainted by the images of horror the poison had cursed them with and the fatigue that still clung to them, couldn’t grasp yet, what they saw before them. They had merely stumbled from their sleeping horrors to a slaughter in the waking world. In their faces Grealt saw the doubt, whether they had really woken up. 

The all too familiar stench of fear filled the air as more and more people came to.  
Through the shocked and disbelieving silence broke a penetrating cry. The young dark-haired lady who had danced with the hostess rushed to the side of the hostess’s lifeless body. She gently touched her cheek, her other hand hovering over the gash Geralt’s dagger had left in her chest.

“Come back! Come back to me!” 

More voices, asking what had happened, arose, but Geralt could only focus on the whimpering woman clutching the dead Vampire’s body.  
Geralt felt the need to say something to her, though he knew he wouldn’t find the right words. He waved his way through the dazed guests until he reached her. 

“She was a Vampire. She had arranged to kill you and the others.” 

The woman whirled around. Her icy stare was dulled by the tears streaming down her face. “I don’t care what she was! We loved each other, she wouldn’t have hurt me!” 

Geralt kept quiet. What was he to say to that? He hadn’t known the creatures he had killed. He didn’t know of their loyalties, only that they had been starving and starving people – human or other - were unpredictable in what they would do to quench their hunger. Maybe the alp would have spared her lover.  
But maybe her loyalty to her kin and her own hunger would have made her betray her love. 

The woman scrambled to her feet and shoved against Geralt’s chest, hitting him over and over. It didn’t hurt him. He was used to far worse than the strikes of a human woman. But the screamed words she hurled at him cut worse than any Alp’s teeth or claws ever could. 

“What would you know of love? You murdered her! You monster!” 

More cries joined in, cursing him for what he had done. All of the guests had known the hostess personally in one way or another. How many of them had thought they were her friends?

Gerlat left the destroyed ballroom followed by shouts and looks of fear and hatred. This wasn’t new. But he still hadn’t gotten used to it. Perhaps he never would.

On his way out of the manor, he was called back by a familiar voice. 

“Geralt, wait! You said you were going to come get me.”

Geralt didn’t answer. Didn’t slow his walk, but Jaskier ran to catch up with him anyway, the lute case he must have gotten out of the ballroom rocking against his back. 

“I heard screams and when I went back to see what had happened, you were gone and people were rushing to get out. That bastard Marx said he was going to write about how witchers were monsters. He looked terrified. What happened?”

Geralt happened. In his foolish need to protect people, he had forgotten how they would always turn against him in the end. Jaskier had seen the aftermath of what he had done. He had seen the death and destruction Geralt brought with him wherever he went.  
He couldn’t let that happen to his bard.

“You should leave, Jaskier.” His voice was hollow, but he meant every word. Jaskier should leave. It was the only way for him to be safe from Geralt. 

Jaskier’s answer came hesitantly. “Do you need to be alone? Because if so, I will go.” He bit his lip. “But if you need me to talk to or just be there, I am here for you. I always will be.”

Geralt didn’t answer. But Jaskier still understood. He didn’t leave his side. 

They left behind yet another city where Geralt would be known as a monster. But this time he had a friend on his side who for some reason refused to think of him like the rest of the world did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have been really hungry when I wrote this. 
> 
> So I don't know how clear I made this, but the Geralt part is now past Princess Pavetta's feast and the Djinn-incident. I'm not sure about the "12 years", but in the Djinn episode Jaskier said something about having been friends for a decade so... I guess it fits? I googled the timeline so many times and I'm still unsure about it. 
> 
> And there is yet another Shakespeare-reference in this. I really should stop, but (as you might have noticed) I'm really bad at insults and "scratching could not make it worse if it were such a face as yours" is a beautiful way to tell someone that they're ugly.  
> Honestly, Valdo Marx wasn't even suppsed to be in here. But I had a dream in which Jaskier and Valdo had a bitchfight and Jaskier said that Valdo looked like a goat because of his beard (yes, I did dream up Valdo as a guy with a goatee) and when I woke up I knew two things:  
> 1\. My subconscious is about as unfunny as I am when I'm awake  
> 2\. But damn it, I have to put this into my fic now
> 
> And I wanted to thank you for your kudos. I see you and I am happy about every single one of you <3
> 
> Love, me


	5. Hope That You Remember Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger-warning: There is non-consentual kissing in this. I don't know if that warrants a trigger-warning, but just to be safe

**Hope That You Remember Me**

There was a voice. He tried to strain his ears, but he couldn’t make out what it was saying. Couldn’t open his eyes to look.  
The voice spoke again. A name. It sounded closer. He had to open his eyes! 

Mustering all the will power he had, he pried his eyes open. There was someone kneeling before him. Black armour. A Nilfgaardian soldier! The adamant need to get away from as far as possible surged through Jaskier. But he couldn’t. His body didn’t obey him. His eyes lost focus. 

“Jaskier!”

That was his name. His eyes opened again. The soldier was still there; A blurry silhouette, reaching out a hand towards him. Jaskier tried to scream, but all that left him was a whimpered “no”. 

The stranger shook his shoulder, forcing him to stay focussed. 

“Jaskier, stay with me. I’m here, you are alright.”

But he wasn’t alright. Any soldier with the black armour - Nilfgaardian armour! - was a threat. Nothing could be alright, as long as he was here. But where was here? A dungeon. A floor. Why was he on the floor? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember. Had he been hit? The distant memory of his head smashing against something hard wormed itself through his foggy mind. It certainly felt like he’d been hit. 

He tried to lift his hand. The effort proved futile. He couldn’t move. His limbs were too heavy. He was forced to lay there and blink at the man with black armour and strangely contrasting white hair. It stirred something inside Jaskier. That hair… had he seen it before?  
He was shaken from his thoughts as the man spoke again. He didn’t understand what he was saying, but it sounded urgent. He had to focus! Focus damn it!

“… get you out of here.” 

That sounded good. He didn’t want to stay here. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. 

“Do you understand me, Jaskier? Can you hear me?”

Deep breath. Jaskier clenched his teeth and nodded barely noticeably. Slowly, oh so slowly his ability to move returned. The man looked at him with a grim expression, brows furrowed over golden eyes. These eyes… The feeling that he had met this man before returned, more insistent this time. This was no stranger. These were the sort of eyes you wouldn’t forget. The sort of eyes, a bard could write a hundred ballads about. But where had he seen him? Had he met him in passing? Was he one of the soldiers who had taken him here? No, that didn’t make sense. This man looked too concerned.  
Although the feeling in Jaskier’s body was returning, his mind still felt like a page with writing that had been smudged by a careless hand. He knew there were words, thoughts, memories, but he couldn’t understand them. 

The man spoke again with a voice so deep and caring that it grounded Jaskier in reality.

“You can’t stay here, Jaskier. You have to do everything you can to get out of here, do you understand?”

“Yes.” His voice was raspy and felt too small in comparison to the golden-eyed man’s voice. 

He tried to lift himself up, gritting his teeth as his arms trembled from the effort of holding him up. The man was right. He had to do everything he could. He could push through the pain. He had to. The hand on his shoulder that had shaken him awake was now holding him down in a firm grip. 

“Stop it, you are hurt. You can’t stand up.” 

_Then help me!_ , Jaskier wanted to scream, but the strain on his muscles was too much. He couldn’t waste any energy on getting his tongue to form the words.

“I don’t have much time,” the golden-eyed man continued urgently. “It is dangerous being here. I can’t risk getting discovered.” 

Was he a spy? Why was it dangerous? He looked so strong, so sure, like nothing could be a threat to him. That look on his face… it was painfully familiar. There had been a tavern… He remembered singing, being yelled at. Remembered a man with white hair and golden eyes scowling at him, brooding in a corner, looking like he would attack anyone who dared disturb him. He remembered making his way over to him…

“I can’t take you with me, so I need you to get out on your own. You have to do everything you can to do that. Everything. I can’t risk you getting hurt because of me. I’m not worth it. So if you have to betray me in order to be safe, then that is alright. That is what you should be doing.”

Betray him? How could he betray him? Jaskier didn’t even know his name. And what would Nilfgaard want him for anyway? There was only one man they had been asking him about, again and again and that man was a witcher. A witcher they were convinced would come to help Jaskier escape. 

His voice came out strangled and unsure. “Geralt?”

The man looked at him strangely. “Yes, it’s me, Geralt. Didn’t you recognize me?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t… I remember you. You were in that tavern. But after that…”

The man’s grip tightened on his shoulder, giving him a tiny shake as if to urge him to remember. “Look at me. Remember me. I’m your friend Geralt.”

No, something wasn’t right. Jaskier’s jumbled mind provided no explanation as to why, but this just felt wrong. _Your friend_ Geralt. This was some sort of sick trick. Whoever this man was, he sure as hell wasn’t Jaskier’s friend. Whatever his captors hoped to achieve here, it wasn’t having the desired effect. 

Trying to be inconspicuous, Jaskier made to put some distance between him and whoever was looking at him with these golden eyes of a predator, but the grip on his shoulder remained, prohibiting him from moving away. What had felt like a comforting gesture before became a warning. 

Sweat pooled in his hands and his breathing sped up. Maybe he could play along? Maybe if he pretended not to notice that this was just another of Nilfgaard’s cruelties, he would be safe.  
He swallowed. 

“I want to go with you.” Jaskier’s hands went still, as if any movement might give away his lie.

The man who wasn’t his friend lifted one hand off Jaskier’s shoulder. But the relief was short-lived, as the man pushed a strand of hair out of Jaskier’s face with false gentleness and rested his hand on his cheek, right on a cut that hadn’t fully healed yet. Jaskier did his best to hide the wince, but he knew he wasn’t doing a good job at it. To cover up his misstep, he forced himself to lean into the touch. The white haired man gave him a soft smile that made Jaskier’s stomach churn uncomfortably.

“I want you to come with me too. But it’s not possible. Not as long as you can’t walk on your own. But if you do what they tell you to do, you’ll be free soon. You’ll be able to come to me on your own. You’ll have to find my child surprise and me. You do know how to find us, don’t you? You know where our hide-out is?” 

Golden eyes bore into Jaskier’s insistently. He didn’t answer. Cold dread spread through him, overwhelming him, making it impossible to speak. 

“Jaskier, I need to know you’ll be able to find us. Tell me and we can be together.”

He got closer. Golden eyes darted to his lips. Jaskier’s eyes widened and he tried to pull back, but the hand on his cheek wandered to the back of his head and held him firmly in place as their lips locked. Jaskier pressed his lips together as tightly as he could.  
But it didn’t end. Everything in Jaskier’s body screamed at him to do something, but he was frozen. His lips were forced apart. A whimper escaped him. This was all wrong! The need to get the man away from him became overwhelming. So he did the only thing he could think of and bit down as hard as he could. The taste of copper filled his mouth and the man drew back, shoving Jaskier to the floor.  
He struggled to breathe, terrified of what he would do to him now. Jaskier watched as the man lifted a finger to his lips, inspecting the blood. Blazing eyes turned back to Jaskier. 

“What was that for? Didn’t you like it? Wasn’t that what you wanted to do for years?”

A tremble overcame Jaskier. With more confidence than he felt he finally said it. “I don’t know you.”

The man faltered. “What?”

“I said I don’t know who you are.” 

A smile appeared on the man’s face, a hollow imitation of friendliness. “Of course you do. You recognized me, I’m Geralt. Your friend. Your beloved.”

With every word the man spoke, the sinking feeling in Jaskier’s stomach grew that this was oh so very _wrong_. 

“I don’t know who you are, but you are not my friend.”

“Is that so?” He took on a dangerous expression that made those simple words sound like a death-sentence. “Well then, if you don’t want to play along, let’s see what’s in that pretty head of yours, our way.”

The icy smile stretched into a grimace that bore more semblance to a baring of teeth. But it didn’t stop at that. His whole face shifted, became a bizarre in-between of faces until it finally settled.  
Jaskier was forced to stare at his own face, eyes closed in a show of grotesque pleasure. 

“What the fuck?,” he breathed. This couldn’t be real. How was this…this _thing_ wearing his face?

The Jaskier that wasn’t Jaskier rolled its head from side to side while the real one watched in horror. 

“Oh, it’s been too long.” The thing stopped moving about, froze completely. “No, it can’t be.” It looked at Jaskier, contemplating him with morbid curiosity. 

Jaskier didn’t dare breathe. He wasn’t moving a muscle. Though he knew it was for naught, he hoped and prayed that this was just a horrible nightmare caused by his head-injury and that he would soon get woken up by Cahir’s kicks. He would welcome them with open arms. Everything was better than watching this face-stealer’s eyes that were his own, bore into him as though he had seen his soul. 

The thing’s eyes widened and it let out a startled laugh. “Oh dear, would you look at that. Your memory is all wrong. You really don’t know…They must have messed you up badly.” 

No shit. Jaskier had known that it had done a lot more damage than Cahir probably anticipated when the knight had hit his head like that, but witnessing this, whatever _this_ was, was too much. It made him feel as if his head was about to burst. 

With a sick sort of fascination, he watched, as his features on the creature hardened. “You don’t even know what he has done. You don’t remember what a monster the man you are protecting with your ignorance is. How he made us into a monster.” 

It stalked closer. The predatory gleam in its eyes unfit for Jaskier’s face. 

Jaskier shrank back. He was skidding away as fast as possible. He had to get away! His heart was racing, fear clawing at it and making it impossible to think. He had to escape! He had to-  
His back hit the wall. 

“Please, don’t-“

His whimper was interrupted by a snarl. “That monster took something from us, the most important thing we had. We will return the favour.” 

He didn’t have time to react. He could only stare in horror as the creature lunged at him, smothering the scream for help that tried to escape Jaskier’s lungs. His own fingers that weren’t his wrapped around his neck. In an irrational moment of clarity, Jaskier thought how ill-fitting that use was for his hands. They were supposed to create beautiful tunes and caress lovers, not bring pain and death.  
He clawed at the hands, trying to pry them away from him, though it was a losing fight. He couldn’t breathe.  
And then the pressure on his neck became even worse. The hands grew bigger, stronger. The eyes that were staring at Jaskier as the life was strangled out of him, were no longer blue but golden and ablaze with bloodlust. The witcher’s eyes knew no mercy. 

Jaskier tried to plead for it to just stop, he couldn’t take any more. But the only sound that made it past his lips was a throaty screech. Tears spilled out of his eyes that were blown wide with panic as an airy sensation overcame him. His head felt like it would split any second. He screamed and screamed by no sound came out of his mouth.  
He gave up trying to rip the hands from him and instead pushed against the man’s broad chest, tearing at the strands of white hair, roaming over the hated black armour, trying to find something to hold onto that would get him away from him.  
A sharp pain in his fingers joined the throbbing ache in his head. Through his clouded mind, he realized that he had pricked his finger on something sharp. Desperately, he fumbled with it, somehow getting the sharp thing off the armour. Without thinking, he rammed it into his attacker’s shoulder. 

A blood-curdling scream threatened to burst his ears, blood spattered across his face, accompanied by a sizzle of flesh and finally, _finally_ Jaskier could breathe again. He panted heavily, sucking in deep breaths of cold air as the beast let up on him. 

He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the stars that danced across his vision and readied himself for another attack. But it never came. 

The doors flew open and in stormed a guard. Jaskier’s shoulders sagged in relief. Even the presence of the hated enemy who had imprisoned and mistreated him made him feel safer than being alone with this shape-shifter any longer. 

“What is going on?,” the guard demanded. “Cahir ordered you to get the information out of him, not start a fight.” 

Golden eyes fixed Jaskier with a lock of pure hatred, before turning to the guard and putting on a mocking expression.  
“There is no information he could give, thanks to Cahir. He ought to be more careful. It seems, he hit this little lark’s head a bit too hard. You better hope his memory will return soon, if at all.” 

The guard looked at Jaskier, who was still catching his breath and throwing wary glances at the golden-eyed beast, then back at the shifter himself, blood dripping out of its shoulder and a murderous glint in its eyes. The guard seemed like he wanted to ask about it, but apparently decided it would be better not to risk the beast’s wrath by reminding it of its wound. 

“But… doesn’t your kind have all the memories of the people you take form of? How do you not know where the witcher is while you look like him?”

The guard’s jaw clenched at the condescending scoff he received. 

“Do not claim knowledge about things you don’t understand. We do not possess the witcher’s current memories, only those from when he last saw him and that was a long time ago.”

“But, if it’s been so long ago, are you even sure this is the right bard?,” the guard asked, doubt creeping into his voice as he mustered Jaskier again. 

The thing stepped closer to the guard and Jaskier thought he saw the hint of fear on the Nilfgaardian’s round face. The thought that he looked too soft to be a fighter flittered through Jaskier’s mind. 

“We never forget a face we have worn before.” For a second its face mirrored the soldier’s, black shoulder length hair and soft features looking exactly the same, before it morphed back into the witcher. “This is the bard. We have seen how close he is to Geralt of Rivia.”

He strode past the guard and left the cell, but not before leering sardonically at Jaskier. “Even if he doesn’t remember at the moment, we know how the bard truly feels about the witcher.”

Its implication was hard to miss. Jaskier thought of the kiss it had forced on him. That word it had used, _beloved_.  
A wave of disgust rolled over him. As he looked into those golden eyes one last time, before the beast left him for good, he knew without a doubt how he really felt about the man with the white hair and golden eyes. He had stared at these eyes as the horror of knowing he would draw his last breath seared his mind. Had seen infinite hatred and bloodlust in them. These were the eyes of a monster. 

**15 years into their friendship**

“Jaskier, get away from them!” 

As Geralt got closer to his friend, Jaskier turned around and looked at him in shock. So did the man standing next to the bard. The man who looked exactly like Geralt.  
Jaskier’s eyes went wide and darted from one Geralt to the other. 

“They are a Doppler.” Geralt unsheathed his sword. So did the creature. “Stay back, Jaskier.”

His friend shouldn’t have to watch this. Witnessing what a Doppler was able to do and watching your friend fight himself, not knowing which one was the right one, could make the strongest man go mad. 

And –all the heavens be thanked - for once, his friend listened without questioning him. With one last panicked look, Jaskier turned around and ran.  
Good. So at least he couldn’t get hurt now. 

The Doppler smiled. It looked unnatural and wrong on Geralt’s face. “Who would have thought? A witcher getting attached to a bard. How unusual.”

“So is a Doppler going on a killing spree.” 

It had taken Geralt a while to figure it out. Most Dopplers tended to live amongst humans peacefully. It had been years since he had last heard of one going rogue. 

Geralt lifted his sword higher, shifting into a different stance. The Doppler mirrored him perfectly. The only discernible difference between them was that the Doppler wouldn’t dare use the silver sword. 

“Are you sure you want to do this, witcher? This is a fight you cannot win. We know everything you do. Every trick and every weakness.” 

This wasn’t news for Geralt. He was well aware of what a Doppler was capable of. The information had been drilled into him.  
But it had never happened to him before. He had never stared at his own face, ready for a fight. 

He wasn’t frightened. Witchers didn’t experience fear that way. It would have been hindering in a fight. But as he looked at the creature wearing his own face, cold determination on their face, Geralt suddenly understood the fear the humans emanated whenever they laid their eyes on him. 

If even Geralt felt uneasy, how must the Doppler’s victims have felt? Had the creature looked like them when they had murdered them? Or had they been wearing the face of a beloved friend when they did it and look on their victim’s form afterwards to pose as them?

Either way, they had to be stopped. And what better place to do it than here at the outskirts of town where the few people who usually roamed the streets had become too scared to step foot outside. Here, the Doppler wouldn’t be able to sneak out of the fight and disappear into a crowd. 

Without any more hesitation, Geralt swung his sword, aiming for the Doppler’s neck.  
His attack was easily parried. Silver clashed against steel. The steel sword was heavier and stronger. Although their strengths were equal, Geralt was pushed pack slightly by the force of the steel crashing against the weaker metal. With a half-pirouette Geralt regained his footing and swung the sword again, this time against the Doppler’s waist. Again, it was parried.

“My, my, we have never seen a man so ready to fight himself. One might think this was the opportune moment for you to let out all of your anger for yourself.” 

Geralt clenched his teeth and refused to listen to the taunts. But he couldn’t pretend as if the words weren’t true. The Doppler had seen his memory, knew his innermost thoughts. 

Geralt took a step to the side as the Doppler’s sword came for his head in a downward motion. Geralt whirled around, going in for another attack, but was forced back, when his foe countered with the same ferocity. Swords collided over and over again. Neither of them faltered as they chased each other with silver and steel. Neither of them able to gain the upper hand.

The Doppler continued his taunts. “We are not so different, you and us. You think that we are a monster, but how many have you killed?” They pushed their sword against Geralt’s. “You have lost your humanity a long time ago. No matter how much your precious bard says that he will stay with you, you know he will find out about your true nature eventually.”

Their swords were locked, neither of them relenting. Geralt moved slightly to put more of his weight onto his sword, as he let go with one hand. He formed a complicated sign in the air. Aard carried the Doppler off his feet.  
They wouldn’t stay down for long. In mere moments they would be ready to fight again. 

But that was all the time Geralt needed. With one swift motion he took the potion he had always hidden within his armour and drank it. 

Immediately his eyes darkened and black streaks covered the skin around his eyes. He felt the strength the potion gave him surge through his veins. 

The Doppler stared at him in shock, but they shook of their stupor and went for another attack.  
They had no chance. With Geralt’s senses and body enhanced like this, the odds were tipped undeniably in his favour. Geralt’s attacks came faster, harder. He forced the Doppler into defence. The Doppler’s speed was no match for Geralt’s now. 

The steel sword was hit with such a force that the Doppler couldn’t hold onto it anymore. It landed a few feet away, out of reach for the creature. The Doppler cried out, as the silver pierced their leg and burned their flesh.  
They fell onto their knees. They both knew that this was it. The Doppler would not be able to physically beat him. 

Geralt hauled off to deal the final blow. The silver had almost reached the Doppler’s neck, ending them, when their body contorted. The white hair became shorter and darker, the muscles shrunk into a lithe form and unnervingly familiar blue eyes looked up at Geralt pleadingly. 

The sword stopped short. Geralt’s breathing got stuck in his throat.  
This was just a Doppler. It didn’t matter what they looked like, they were a monster and a killer and they deserved to die.  
But they looked like Jaskier; his innocent friend who stood by him through everything. He couldn’t be the one to shed his blood. The thought of watching the life drain out of Jaskier, even if Geralt knew it wasn’t really him, made his hand tremble.  
Jaskier’s inevitable death had haunted him in his dreams for years now, ever since he had been so close to losing him when the Djinn had attacked him. Back then, Jaskier had survived and still it had been enough to give Geralt nightmares of being too late; of watching his friend die because of him. And now he was forced to add a real memory of Jaskier dying to his nightmares. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t! 

“Turn back, damn it!” His voice was a hoarse growl. 

Tears brimmed in those blue eyes. Geralt’s heart clenched. “We told you we knew your weakness.”

Geralt had to do it. This monster had killed people. They were too dangerous to be left alive.  
But he couldn’t bring his hand to move. The sword still hung in the air between them, quivering. 

The Doppler continued in Jaskier’s voice. “We know you can’t let your dearest friend come to harm.” 

There it was, in the way they spoke. This wasn’t Jaskier. And yet…

“I also can’t let you terrorize these people,” Geralt growled, though it was more a reminder to himself than for the creature before him. 

Jaskier’s eyebrows drew together and he huffed. “We only did it to protect someone we love. Just like you do.”

A shiver ran down Geralt’s spine. “There are others of your kind here? Where?” 

The Doppler didn’t answer, but the hint of a smile danced across their lips.  
As sudden as a bucket of cold water being dumped on him, Geralt realized what it meant.  
Jaskier never left his side to fight without at least arguing. He would not have let Geralt fight someone who looked like himself without figuring out how to tell them apart.  
His blood ran cold. 

“Where is Jaskier?”

“He’s safe in the inn. We haven’t touched him.”

Geralt gripped his sword tighter. “And what about that bastard who wore his face before?”

The smug smile left the Doppler’s face in an instant and panic became evident in their blue eyes. “They are innocent! They have nothing to do with what I do. They would never hurt anyone. Kill me if you must, but leave them out of it.”

A scream pierced the air. “No! Let them go!” 

Geralt whirled around. A figure came running towards him. This must be the other Doppler. Geralt watched as they halted and –

Pain flared up in Geralt’s side. The Doppler underneath him had taken the opportunity of Geralt being distracted to stab him. 

On instinct, Geralt spun around, plunging his sword into the creature’s chest.  
Into Jaskier’s chest. No. _No!_

There was another horrified scream behind him. After seconds of it being the only sound, he heard stumbling steps as the other Doppler ran away.  
Geralt didn’t care. All of his focus was fixed on the man lying on the ground before him, panting heavily. There was nothing he could do while he was forced to watch Jaskier bleed to death.  
All rational thoughts left his mind. He forgot that this was a Doppler. He could only see the image of a dying Jaskier that was already beginning to burn into his mind.  
The fear that witchers weren’t supposed to feel, took hold of him. It was foolish, but Geralt couldn’t control it. His hands found the wound on Jaskier’s body that he had put there. Desperately, he pressed down on it, trying to stop the flow of the blood that coated his hands.  
But the blue eyes had already become glassy, staring past him. His friend’s chest didn’t rise anymore. He looked so small, lying beneath Geralt like this. Motionless. Jaskier wasn’t supposed to look like this, he had to move, smile, dance and brim with life! But he never again would do those things now. Geralt had killed his friend. 

No, he hadn’t. With all the strength he could muster, he forced himself to see the truth. This was a Doppler. Jaskier was still alive; was still safe.  
But what if he wasn’t?  
Without a second thought, he left the corpse of the Doppler where it was and sprung to his feet. Enhanced by the witcher potion he had taken, he ran back to the inn, they were staying at. He forced himself to run faster. He had to get back. Had to make sure Jaskier was safe!

He barged into the room they had rented and immediately calm settled over him. There Jaskier was, sitting on the bed and strumming his lute, likely composing some new song. Geralt’s muscles slackened as all the build-up tension left him. 

Without looking up at him, Jaskier said “It’s good that you’re back. I wanted to ask you whether you thought it would be alright if I just described a Cockatrice as a hybrid-beast. I know you told me it’s actually an Ornithosaurs, but nobody except you knows that word, so…” He finished the series of chords he was working on and looked to Geralt. His smile dropped immediately. “What the fuck.”

Geralt watched as Jaskier slowly stood up with a look of pure horror written on his face.  
Geralt’s blood turned to ice, as he realized what Jaskier was staring at with his horrified expression. It was his eyes. 

He had always made sure Jaskier wouldn’t see him like this, always. Seeing him blood-soaked and covered in monster-guts was one thing. But exposing Jaskier to the sight of Geralt looking like a monster himself, with eyes black and soulless, was cruel. Jaskier didn’t deserve to see him like this. How could he have been so careless?  
The answer was simple: Whit the need to make sure Jaskier was alive, everything else had lost all importance. In his hurry to get to his friend, Geralt had completely forgotten that the effects of the potion had not yet worn off.  
Not that Jaskier would remain his friend after this.

Geralt stood as still as possible. If he moved now, Jaskier might think he was going to attack him. If Jaskier called him a monster and a disgusting mutant now, Geralt wouldn’t be able to deny it. The image of his hands covered in Jaskier’s blood as he watched him die, not even half an hour ago, filled up his mind. 

Unbearably slowly, Jaskier walked over to him, tense and terrified. He looked so helpless and frightened; Like a little bird unable to escape a raptor. A scared little lark that feared for his life.  
Geralt swallowed. This was it. This was the last time he would see Jaskier. He had hoped that he would have a different last memory to hold on to than Jaskier looking this appalled by him. 

The bard’s voice was small and trembled. “Shit, Geralt, are you alright?” Soft hands touched Geralt’s face gently. Why was he so gentle? The touch should be scratching or recoiling as if burned by Geralt. “Are you… what the fuck happened to your eyes? You- please don’t tell me that you are blinded. Is this a curse? Geralt, please talk to me!”

Was this a curse? Yes, the worst curse Geralt could imagine. He didn’t want to speak, but Jaskier sounded so worried about him. He deserved to know. 

“This is what happens when I take my potions. I won’t hurt you.” It was a plea more than it was an explanation. A plea to make Jaskier believe this bitter lie. He had just proven that he would hurt Jaskier. 

Geralt tried to turn away, as if it could make Jaskier unsee. As if it could make him forget who he was travelling with; What monster he was calling his friend.  
But Jaskier didn’t let him. Geralt could easily break his grip, but he couldn’t risk accidently hurting Jaskier. Not again.

“I am going to leave,” Geralt said gruffly. He didn’t want to. He would never want to leave Jaskier behind him, never to see him again. But that was what Jaskier must want. He was probably just afraid of saying so; terrified that it would piss Geralt off. 

“Excuse me?” Jaskier gasped in outrage. “You are not leaving like this. Not with that stab wound untreated. Don’t think you can hide that from me. And I will not let you walk the streets drenched in blood like that. Now, take off that shirt so I can look at that wound and you better explain what happened to you.”

Geralt didn’t move. Jaskier tucked on his shirt, trying to get it up so he could inspect the wound.  
Geralt knew he should brush him away, but he also knew he was too selfish to deny himself that touch while it lasted. Soon enough Jaskier would draw back in fear anyway. 

“You won’t get a good song out of this.”

Jaskier threw him an indignant look. “I am not asking because I want to write a song. I want to know, because I am worried about you and you look like you have just seen something horrible.”

Geralt barely managed to keep from flinching. He _had_ seen something horrible. Probably the most horrible thing in his life. He would gladly go through the grass trials again if he could undo what he had done today. But he couldn’t and he owed it to Jaskier to tell him about it.  
So with a forcibly steady voice he told him everything. How he had realized the killer had been a Doppler who was posing as their victims. How he had stormed to the outskirts of town where he had been faced with the Doppler who looked like himself. 

Jaskier laid a hand on Geralt’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “I am so sorry. That must have been horrifying. I can’t imagine what it must feel like seeing someone else look exactly like me and know my thoughts.”

This time Geralt couldn’t repress the wince. “There…there was one. Who looked like you. I thought it was you, but it was another Doppler.”

Jaskier’s face turned slightly paler and Geralt forced himself to continue.  
“That doppler left, but when I fought the one looking like myself, they turned into you. They-I –“ 

He broke off. He couldn’t say it. Jaskier did it for him in the worst possible way.

“I sure hope you finished that bastard who stole my beautiful face.” 

“Damn it, take this serious! I killed you, I watched you bleed out.” He held up his hands, still covered in dried blood, shoving them near Jaskier’s face so he couldn’t possibly miss it. “This is your blood!”

Gently, Jaskier placed his hands on Geralt’s and pushed them down carefully. Sincerity shone from his eyes, as he captured Geralt’s gaze in them. 

“No, it isn’t. This is the blood of a creature who just so happened to look like me.”  
He guided Geralt’s hands to his chest, not caring about the blood ruining his shirt. The image of Geralt clutching Jaskier’s chest and pressing on the wound flashed through Geralt’s mind. But then he felt the steady beat of a heart.  
“See? I am alive and I am well.”  
He was. He was safe. And he was still here with Geralt, despite it all. Despite knowing.  
“And I know that you would never hurt me, my dear. You have saved me far too many times for that. I have seen you defend families and help people, even if they wouldn’t pay you. I know you would do anything to keep me safe. You are a good person.”

He wished he could believe it. But…. “You smelled of fear. When you saw my eyes… when you saw me looking even less like a human and more like a beast, you were terrified of me. And I am not blaming you.”

“I wasn’t afraid _of_ you. I was afraid _for_ you. I thought someone had hurt you and done something to your eyes that couldn’t be undone. I am not going to lie, this is definitely unexpected and I might need some time to get used to that, but if it is just part of being a witcher, then that is fine.”

He’d need time to get used to it? He was truly going to stay? He swallowed. “You won’t have to get used to it. I will make sure you don’t have to see that again.” 

“I told you. It is fine.”

Geralt hesitated. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What, you being a witcher?” Jaskier snorted and gave him a sly smile. “Sorry to tell you, but I was well aware that you are a witcher, before today. Why do you think I wanted to travel with you in the first place? It certainly wasn’t the thrilling conversation; I tell you that.” Jaskier nervously raked a hand through his hair. “I mean, that was before I became your friend. Now, I would never leave your side, because I care about you, of course. I know who you are. And that is my dearest friend and the farthest thing from a monster I could imagine.”

Geralt looked into his little lark’s trusting eyes that held infinite faith in him. And for a moment, he believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way Jaskier acted in the first half is kind of based on how a friend of mine acted when she got a concussion once. Apparently people can still go hours doing sports and talk normally and then suddenly lose part of their memory as well as their consciousness and then go back to almost normal relatively quickly. It's definitely not medically accurate, but I got confused by my research and just decided to take what I saw as an outsider once as inspiration. 
> 
> I hope you are all healthy and safe!  
> 


	6. Now Leave

**Now Leave**

Jaskier held his breath so as not to make the tiniest noise, one ear pressed against the door.  
After the shapeshifting creature had left, the soldier who had stormed in stood there for a minute, looking conflicted about what to do. Jaskier couldn’t fault him for that. It was his job after all to guard Jaskier, but he also had just let a pissed-off shapeshifter roam the fort without supervision. It could be absolutely harmless and just leave. Or it could cost the guard his job and possibly his life.  
The guard let out a curse, shot Jaskier a half-hearted glowering look and went back to his post in front of the locked door. 

All the while Jaskier had prayed to whatever goods might be listening that the guard wouldn’t ask about where the shifter’s wound had come from. His heart had beaten wildly in his chest at the thought that his weapon, no matter how small or unthreatening it seemed, would be discovered and taken away from him. And for the first time in months, it seemed as if destiny had cast a favouring eye on him.  
The guard had left, still unsettled from his meeting with the beast. There was no doubt he thought that Jaskier too would be in shock after being alone in a room with this creature and unable to think clearly. Oh how wrong he was. Naturally, Jaskier was trembling and he knew that he would have nightmares of murderous golden eyes for weeks to come, but if anything, this encounter had only made him realize one thing: He was sure as hell not going to wait around for whatever new torture Cahir had planned for him next. Jaskier only hoped the soldier thought him too badly messed up for any clear minded cause of action. 

Once he was alone again, Jaskier slowly loosened his vicelike grip around the object he had taken from the beast while it was wearing the witcher’s face and armour and that thankfully hadn’t dematerialized when the shifter had left.  
For the first time he actually took a proper look at it. It was a round brooch of a bronze colour, but underneath the colouring Jaskier could spy specks of silver. It must have been old and exposed to the elements hence the silver was tarnished like this. But regardless of its beauty’s value, it could be used as a weapon. It had been silver and sharp enough to hurt his shapeshifting attacker. And it was thin enough that with some luck, it could be of another important use as well. 

This was how Jaskier found himself eavesdropping at the door, wishing that the guard would decide to abandon his post and go look for the shifter.  
Luck was on his side. The pacing of the indecisive man turned into the echoes of retreating steps. Jaskier waited, tense until the last of the sounds had receded.  
As quickly as he could he ripped off a loose threat of his shirt and knelt in front of the door. The little window didn’t provide much light, but it sufficed that Jaskier could see the lock well enough to stick the looped threat in there. The tip of his tongue peeked out of his mouth in concentration as he fumbled with the lock, using the brooch’s needle and the threat to pick at it. It took all of his focus not to hum his little wordless tune, as he was prone to do when he was concentrating or nervous, both of which he very much was at the moment. It was hard and he felt somehow incomplete without the comfort of his song, but he couldn’t risk being heard. The rattling of the brooch in the lock was loud enough already. 

Finally, he heard a klick. His body stiffened at the noise that sounded too loud for his ears. He strained to hear any approaching footsteps, any shouts of alarm, but none came.  
As quietly as he could, Jaskier stood up and opened the door just a tiny gap. 

For the first time since he had come here, he was eternally thankful for how noiselessly the door opened. He peeked through the gap. Nothing. His shoulders would have sagged in relief, had he not been tense at the thought of what he was about to do. This was pure and utter madness.  
And yet he proceeded to take a step outside. And another. After being confined in his small cell, it felt disorienting to see a different set of walls. With his head lowered, trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible, he scurried up the stairs, all the while listening for the soldiers that surely lied in wait for him. He was on high alert, his heart beating so furiously that he thought it impossible that no one was warned by it that he was coming. 

He reached the top of the stairs and froze. In front of him was a corridor leading two different ways. Damn it. How could he have forgotten? He had absolutely no idea which way he should go. He had been to focussed on his fear when going to his death row cell that he hadn’t thought of counting the steps he had taken or even focus on anything that would have given him a sense of direction. If only he hadn’t pissed of that one soldier on his first day of being a prisoner, maybe they would have forgone the damning blindfold. 

He had nothing to give him any idea where he should go. Gathering his courage or stupidity, he went left, as close to the wall as possible. Hoping against hope to stay hidden in the shadows.  
And by some miracle, he made it through the corridor without getting caught. He rounded a corner to find yet another hallway. Unlike the corridor he had just left, the walls of this one were far from bare. Whatever crest had been adorning the walls before the Nilfgaardians had taken over, was now buried beneath a black flag with a golden sun. 

Anger boiled up inside of him at sight. What right did these black-clads have to throw the continent into war and chaos? To chase after a little girl? To kidnap and torture him? To cover up other’s emblems as if they were irrelevant?  
As irrational and dangerous as it was, Jaskier left the shadows to rip down the flag. A minor act of rebellion, insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but a symbol of resistance. And if there was one thing a bard was good at, it was symbolism. 

But before he could get to the flag, the faint sound of a voice reached him. He froze. Shit shitshit! He would recognize that voice anywhere. _Cahir_.  
Jaskier pressed himself against the wall. He held his breath and felt his heart beat painfully against his ribcage. Of all the directions he could have gone, he had to take the one where he ended up being found by Cahir of all people.  
But there was no sudden shout of ‘There he is’ and no unsheathing of weapons. Instead the talking continued, casually and now that Jaskier’s judgement wasn’t clouded by panic, he realized it was muffled. The voice came from the other side of a door. 

Jaskier shouldn’t do this. He really shouldn’t. And yet he crept closer, biting his lip to keep from making any sounds, footsteps like falling feathers until he could press his ear against the door. It was hard to make out the muted words, but Jaskier’s ears, trained by many years of being a musician, didn’t fail him.

“… told you, he is damn loyal to that witcher. He won’t tell you shit.” 

The voice was unfamiliar, but the venom that dripped out of every word was hard to miss. Cahir’s calm answer was a sharp contrast. 

“He will eventually.”

“Hasn’t yet.”

Were they talking about him? Or were there other prisoners here? He hadn’t seen anyone, but that didn’t have to mean anything.  
Cahir’s tone grew slightly more irritated. 

“We just haven’t found the right method yet. The songbird will sing.” 

Oh. So it was only him after all. 

“We wouldn’t be so sure about that. We have seen his memories and they are not right. Believe us, we would not care if he died gruesomely. But we have made a deal. His pain against information. We can’t give it to you. If he keeps getting hit in the head, he might not be able to give you any information ever again.”

A shiver went down Jaskiers spine. _‘We have seen his mind’_. It was the face-stealer. His blood ran cold.  
Had the shifter told Cahir that Jaskier had managed to wound him? What if there were soldier’s already on the lookout for him? He had to leave, _now_.  
He didn’t. Jaskier needed answers about the witcher, about his own fate, and if there ever was a chance that would be able to get them, it was now. 

“He lost his memory? That’s nothing time won’t heal.” Despite his words, Cahir sounded tense. “Give it two days and they will come back fully. I can wait. It’s not like he has been helpful before, she lying shit.”

The words made pride swell in Jaskier. This was about the first time that him being useless was the best thing that could happen. It meant he was wasting Nilfgaards time. 

“You better hope you are right. If not, then your only chance is to wait for the witcher to show up in his own time. And he will come. We have seen the witcher’s mind, years ago. We know, how he feels about his little lark.”

Impatience resonated in Cahir’s next words. “Like you said. Years ago. Who is to say, he hadn’t changed his mind about the bard.”  
Jaskier’s heart sped up painfully. Whenever Cahir had spoken to him, he had seemed so sure of himself, as if it was a certainty that the witcher would come. This was the first time, Jaskier heard doubt creep into his words. Cahir wasn’t sure whether Jaskier actually was bait after all. This made him desperate. And even more dangerous.  
“You have seen how annoying he is. How long do you expect a witcher to be able to endure that, before he would chase him off? Maybe the bard hadn’t lied when he said they weren’t friends.”

When the shifter answered, there was an undeniable edge to his unfamiliar, its voice louder than before, angrier. “Do you not believe we would have told you, if we thought the witcher would not feel pain at the bard’s disappearance? Do you think we would even be here, if that was the case? You know well enough that the witcher’s misery is the only reward we claim. We are not here to hurt innocents; we don’t do harm to the undeserved. If you cannot give to us the one thing we crave, then there is nothing more for us here.” 

The sound of approaching footsteps came from the room. Jaskier had missed his chance to make a run for it and now it was too late. He backed away, as the shifter got closer. This was it. The creature would open the door, see him and finish what it hadn’t been able to down in the cell. 

“There is only one problem.”

The steps haltered. Jaskier never thought it would be Cahir’s voice that would save him one day, but right now it was the most welcome sound he could imagine. Cahir continued with slow, drawn out words. 

“The problem is that I have met one of your kind before. I trusted in their help and they decided to betray me. I will not make that mistake again.”

“What do you-“ 

The shifter never got to finish its sentence. It ended in a gurgled sound. The vivid image of the creature drowning in a mouth full of its own blood filled Jaskier’s mind. 

He took a step back, and another. Then he turned around and ran. He was too loud, he knew, but he had to get as far away from Cahir as possible. If he had no qualms backstabbing his own allies, then just how far was he willing to go to get information from his enemies?  
Jaskier didn’t pay attention to where he was running. It made no difference. Rounding corners, taking stairs, anything that would put distance between him and Cahir. If he couldn’t escape, maybe he would at the very least be able to hide long enough to formulate a real plan.

His shoulder hit something hard; something that made a startled sound and fell to the floor.  
Out of the corner of his eye, Jaskier registered the black armour of a guard as his unexpected change in momentum made him stumble. Jaskier grabbed the nearest thing to prevent his own fall. The thing he got a hold of wasn’t very stable. The lose fabric of the flag that hung on the wall ripped a bit as he clung to it. 

The soldier, who was obviously trained in reacting to unexpected attacks, gained his footing faster than Jaskier. His hand shot out to grab Jaskier. Jaskier panicked. He was unarmed, except for that brooch that would be no use against an armed fighter. His fist clenched around the fabric of the flag. It might not work, but at least he would get his symbolic moment after all. 

The sound of ripping fabric filled the air, as he teared the flag he was holding onto completely off the wall and threw it over the soldier’s head.  
It was far less heroic than he had hoped for. The fabric didn’t land elegantly on his opponent, but rather was all tangled up. But it was better than nothing. The soldier cursed and abandoned his task of retaining the escaped prisoner in order to regain his sight. 

Jaskier didn’t waste any time seeing how long it would take him to get out of that tangled mess. He brushed past the soldier, pulling the man’s sword from its sheath with what was anything but a smooth motion and took off. 

The unfamiliar weight of the weapon made it harder to run and impossible to do so quietly. He was panting and the tip of the sword would drag on the floor when he didn’t remember to hold it up. But still it gave him a sense of security. 

His legs burned. He felt one of the already sealed cuts open up again and blood tickle down his leg. A shout echoed through the hallway behind him. He gritted his teeth. He had to go on. He couldn’t stop. Dark splotches appeared in his vision. Furiously, he blinked them away. The steps behind him were getting closer. And closer. He couldn’t run anymore. It was too much. 

He didn’t whirl around. He feared for his headache to return tenfold if he did. But he did turn, slowly, lifting the sword slightly. He wasn’t going to win if the soldier engaged in a fight, but he wasn’t going to go down without trying.  
For a moment, Jaskier had the foolish flicker of a hope that the soldier wouldn’t be able to fight without his sword, that he would just ask Jaskier to go back to his cell and that would be that.  
The flash of a dagger in the guard’s hands quenched the spark of hope before it had the chance to grow into a fire. Jaskier barely had time to react, throwing up the sword to parry the blow. The dagger was smaller, but the strength the soldier had put behind his blow was more than Jaskier could muster. His arm shook as the blades crashed against each other, the weight of the sword alone enough to strain his muscles. Still he kept going, parrying each strike, swinging the sword with all the grace of a toddler, but it was just enough to protect himself.

He hadn’t held a sword in a long time. The muscle memory was rusty and unreliable, but it was all he had. For the first time in his life he was thankful for his parents insisting that he should learn how to fight. But the days of having drilled the moves into his head were long gone. 

Another parry he almost missed. A swing for his head he didn’t realize was a feint. He felt a new cut on his shoulder and heard his own scream, without remembering having opened his mouth. His vision was still clouded by dark spots. His movements became slower. 

If only he had trained properly after leaving his old life behind. But of course he had never thought the need would arrive. He was a bard, after all. Who would fight a bard? At this point, most of his experience fighting came from bar fights. And those were not even close to the onslaught he had to defend himself against now. 

All air was pushed out of his lungs at the kick to his chest, he hadn’t seen coming. He was pushed backwards. His feet got swept away from under him. He rolled around, just in time to escape the cutting edge of the dagger that was thrust at where he had just lain. He didn’t have time to catch his breath. He got up on one knee before he had to parry the next attack that was aimed at his throat. His arms were so tired, the sword threatening to slip from his grip at any moment, whereas his opponent didn’t even breathe heavily. He wouldn’t be able to hold his own for much longer. He had to counter-attack if he wanted to have any chance of getting out of this fight alive. But his arms protested at the thought. He couldn’t attack. Not with a weapon that was this heavy. 

So he did the only thing that made sense to his tired mind. It was insane and would probably cost him his life or his freedom, but he couldn’t think of anything else. 

Jaskier dropped the sword. 

It made a clashing sound as it connected with the floor. The soldier faltered for just a moment, as his eyes followed the movement, expecting it to be an attack. One moment was all Jaskier needed.  
The brooch wasn’t shiny anymore. It was practically of no value as an ornament. But for Jaskier, it was the most beautiful and valuable weapon he could ask for. His movement was swift and precise. The needle stabbed into the soldier’s flesh as easily as it would a thin cloak.  
He ripped it back out and stabbed in again. The soldier’s screams filled the hallway as blood squired out of his neck. 

Jaskier didn’t wait to see the soldier die or take his weapon up again to take Jaskier with him in death. He grabbed the dagger the man had dropped at Jaskier’s assault and whirled around to flee. 

That’s when he heard it. Heavy footfalls. The rattling of armour coming from both ends of the hallway. He was trapped.  
The screams and sounds of fighting had been bound to attract attention, but Jaskier hadn’t thought the reinforcement would come from all sides, effectively blocking off his exit. 

He adjusted his grip on the dagger, knowing he didn’t stand a chance. Hoping his enemies would be kind enough to kill him swiftly instead of throwing him back into the hell that was his cell. 

He lowered his dagger, felt it slip from him, heard it clatter onto the floor.  
There was a difference between defending yourself against the odds and fighting a losing battle. One of them was what made the great heroes in his ballads. The other was wasted energy Jaskier just didn’t have anymore and a death sentence. He had tried to imitate the heroes. It hadn’t been enough. 

The gurgled screams of the dying man at his feet and the beating of his heart were the only music and battle drums that accompanied his inevitable fall.

**15 years into their friendship**

The small fire Geralt had lit with Agni cast fluttering shadows over the forest clearing. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s eyes on him, as he set up the tent and laid out one bedroll as he had done the past weeks. It was for Jaskier. Geralt would not sleep tonight, just like he hadn’t slept in a while. 

He knew it was reckless, but the only rest he got was when they took a break during the day. Geralt would scout the area for any kind of threat and when he was sure they were safe, he would allow himself to rest. While Jaskier was picking flowers or cooking or sitting down to compose, Geralt would meditate. He was vulnerable in this state, but he trusted Jaskier with his life. He would not backstab him and should someone else attack them, he would surely do his best to rip Geralt out of meditation, as uncomfortable as that was. 

But meditation alone wasn’t enough. He knew that and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep.  
He had dared to on some nights, hoping time would make it easier, but the unwanted images of Jaskier’s blood, of those blue eyes looking at him, pleading with Geralt not to hurt him, as he thrusted his sword deep into his flesh, wouldn’t leave him alone. They had haunted his every sleeping moment.  
Every time he had awakened with a start and the overwhelming need to make sure Jaskier was still there. He always was; just sleeping peacefully next to Geralt, looking as if there was absolutely nothing wrong. But everything was wrong. Geralt had tried to shake off the lingering panic from the nightmares, but they refused to leave. He hadn’t been able to sleep without seeing Jaskier die since that day with the Doppler. 

So he had decided he wouldn’t sleep at all. If he couldn’t protect his friend in his dreams, he would make sure, he would in the waking world.  
At first he had pretended to plan on sleeping, laying out two bedrolls and closing his eyes until he heard Jaskier’s breathing become deeper and more steady.  
But of course Jaskier had noticed Geralt leaving the tent every night. So instead of lying to his friend, Geralt now openly told him that he was going to hold night watch, even when he knew that he could sense any danger in his sleep.

Tonight was not supposed to be different. He waited for Jaskier to lie down on the camp Geralt had set up, like he had done every time before. But Jaskier put his hands on his hips and lifted his chin defiantly. 

“I am not going to sleep tonight,” Jaskier declared in a tone that left no room for arguing. Geralt ignored the finality. 

“Why not? Is something wrong?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is.” Jaskier’s face softened. “I know that you haven’t been sleeping in forever. That can’t be healthy. And don’t try to tell me that witchers don’t need sleep. You of all people need to be rested. How do you expect to fight monsters if you are tired?”

Geralt wanted to deny it, but Jaskier was right. Refusing to sleep was foolish and if Vesemir knew what he was doing, he would give him more than just a stern lecture. Geralt gave a non-committal grunt. 

“You have to sleep. I can hold watch for tonight,” Jaskier offered.

“You can’t see in the dark and your hearing isn’t as good as mine.” 

It was a weak excuse. Geralt had made sure they were camping in a safe place. There would be no monsters here. Jaskier rolled his eyes. 

“I have the fire and I can just wake you when I think something is wrong so you can look for yourself with your superior senses.” Before Geralt could open his mouth to protest, Jaskier threw his hands up impatiently. “Come on! Years ago you went looking for a bloody djinn to get you to sleep and now I’m offering you a night of sleep and you refuse!”

Geralt grumbled but he couldn’t deny Jaskier’s logic. He looked so worried as Geralt turned and entered the tent. He laid down on the bedroll and closed his eyes.  
He was thankful for the tent shielding him from Jaskier’s view. It wouldn’t do to let Jaskier see him thrashing around in his sleep. He tried to focus on his slow heartbeat, Roache’s occasional soft snorts and the sound of Jaskier’s breathing outside. It took a while, but eventually it lulled him to sleep. 

_A sword buried itself deep within Jaskier’s chest, cutting off his plea. “No!”Geralt screamed, he needed to help him! But he couldn’t move. He looked down and saw his own hands holding fast onto the hilt of the sword. “Jaskier!” Tears streamed down his friend’s face and mingled with his blood as he fell to the ground. And suddenly, Geralt could move again. He cradled him close to his chest. He had done this. If was his fault no more laughter and song would ever leave the bard’s mouth again. Jaskier parted his cracked lips. A tickle of blood run down his chin. He was going to say it too. He was going to tell Geralt, that he knew he had done this to him and that now he would leave him forever and that Geralt was the only one to blame. As if Geralt didn’t know this already. But no scorn left Jaskier’s mouth.  
Instead it was a soft melody, accompanied by a lute. He haltered. Jaskier was singing. He couldn’t understand the words, but as the song continued, the blood disappeared from Jaskier’s chest and face. Geralt stared at him. A calm settled over him with the realization. This was a dream. Jaskier was still alive and with him. He let the melody wash over him as all images of horror disappeared._

He opened his eyes. It was still dark. The only light that made it through the thin fabric of the tent was the campfire. And with it came a song. Geralt furrowed his brows. It was the same song he had heard in his dreams. 

“Dream up a kind and bright new life  
And listen, dearest, to my song.”

For a few minutes Geralt remained motionless, listening to his lark’s soothing melody until it had repeated itself for the fourth time.  
Without making a sound, he crept out of the tent. 

“The whole point of keeping watch is to be quiet. How are you supposed to hear any threats when you are singing?”

Jaskier flinched, only now noticing Geralt, which just proved his point.  
When he had caught himself again, he said “I know your sleep is light enough to awaken at any sign of trouble anyway. That’s why in all those years we never used to hold watch at all, remember?”

Geralt grumbled. “My sleep is certainly light enough that I heard your singing.” 

“Well, that’s rather the point, isn’t it?,” Jaskire mumbled. He hesitated, as if he was weighing whether to say more. His hands stilled. Eventually he settled on “I do need an audience after all.” He scratched his ear nervously. “I didn’t mean to wake you though. Sorry.”

Geralt sighed and sat down on the ground next to Jaskier. Going back to sleep was not an option. He nightmares surely would return. 

“What was it you meant to do then?” 

It sounded more accusatory than he meant it to. After all, it had been Jaskier’s song that had chased away the nightmare, even if he had woken up from it eventually. 

Jaskier didn’t answer. In a slightly warmer tone, Geralt searched for words to undo the damage. “I had never heard that song before. You didn’t compose it during our travels.”

Jaskier smiled at him slyly. “So you do actually listen while I play! But, no you’re right. Do you remember the siren? I wrote this song after you left to free the captured creatures.” 

“Ah, is this _The Maiden of the Sea_ then? I would have thought you’d want to play that song more often. But it has been years and you never once did.”

Jaskier grew visibly nervous. “I…it’s not. I never wrote _The Maiden of the Sea_. It was a stupid idea. It seemed disrespectful. And I don’t play this song in front of an audience. It’s…it’s personal.”

Something in Geralt’s chest clenched uncomfortably. He hadn’t meant to intrude on Jaskier like this. He had always thought his music was something he liked to share with others. The thought that Jaskier had a song that was only for himself and that was only to be played in the safety of a lonely night, had never crossed his mind.  
He thought of Jaskier’s motionless hands as he had said he needed an audience. It had been a lie. How could Geralt have missed that? Had he known, it was this personal to Jaskier, he wouldn’t have pretended to be asleep only to listen to more of the song. 

But instead of saying any of that, he stayed quiet. He didn’t return to bed and neither did Jaskier, although it became clear that Geralt would stay and hold watch from now on. Roach was the only one that got enough sleep that night, as Geralt and Jaskier sat in silence, staring at the flames and dwelling on their own thoughts. 

After a while Jaskier picked up his lute again and started to play. It wasn’t the song from before that had saved Geralt from the pain of his nightmare. But it was calming and Geralt listened to every note Jaskier shared with him until the first light of day broke through the canopy of leaves. 

The had packed up camp and continued on their way to the next town. Around noon they took their usual break. Geralt dismounted Roach and took the silver sword out of its sheath on her saddle bags.  
Jaskier flopped down on the ground, complaining loudly about how he wasn’t wearing the right shoes for walking for so long. Geralt grunted and went over to where he was now lying, sprawled out on the grass, surrounded by flowers and eyes closed. Geralt hesitated. He really didn’t want to disturb Jaskier, when he looked this content. But he had to do this at some point.  
Jaskier’s nose scrunched up and he reopened his eyes, when Geralt’s shadow fell over him. 

“Oh, sorry. You want to meditate again, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll keep on the look-out.”

He sat up straight as if to prove that he was vigilant.  
Geralt hummed, before holding out his steel sword to Jaskier. The bard stared at it dumbfounded.

“Are there monsters nearby?”

“No.” 

“Alright then.” When Geralt didn’t take the sword away, Jaskier added “I’m not really sure what you want me to do right now.”

“I want you to take the sword and get up. This isn’t a break. I am going to teach you how to use a sword.”

Jaskier laughed, slapping Geralt on the shoulder. “Oh, sometimes I almost forget how funny the silent White Wolf can be! Whyever would I need to learn to fight, dearest?”

Geralt’s face remained stoic. “Because if you keep slacking off on your watch, sooner or later, someone or something will attack you.” 

A damned lie. Nothing would dare attack his friend as long as Geralt was close. He wouldn’t let any harm come to him. But what if he wouldn’t be able to? Jaskier needed to know how to defend himself. Because if Geralt ever couldn’t protect him and be it from himself, then he needed to know that his little lark could protect himself. 

Jaskier must have seen something in Geralt’s face that he had tried so hard to hide, because he sighed and gave in. 

“Fine. But I tell you, this is unnecessary. Also I already know some fighting. I have been taught when I was younger.”

“And how long ago was that exactly?”

Jaskier pointed a finger at Geralt’s face accusingly. “Are you calling me old?”

“I am calling you inexperienced with wielding a sword.” 

He could practically see Jaskier’s internal fight to resist making an innuendo. Geralt was eternally thankful that he managed to restrain himself. 

Instead Jaskier huffed. “I’ll have you know that I do still very much know what I learned back then. I have an excellent memory.”

“Prove it.”

“Alright.” 

Jaskier grabbed the hilt of the sword just above where Geralt’s hand was. He had fixed Geralt with a challenging look. When Geralt was sure that the weapon wouldn’t immediately slip from his lark’s hands, he let go. He could see the miniscule twitch in Jaskier’s jaw as he tried to keep a neutral face. He obviously had forgotten how heavy an actual sword was. Jaskier moved his hand a bit to get adjusted to the weight. Good. So he still knew that he couldn’t just start swinging it like an overzealous child. 

That assessment quickly changed when Jaskier took on a defensive stance. It was sloppy, his legs were too far apart and his posture would be fitting for a ten-year-old. He would never stand a chance in a fight like that. 

Geralt walked towards him. And without much ado, pushed against Jaskier’s chest. He immediately lost his balance and stumbled backwards. 

“Ow! What was that for?” He threw Geralt a half-hearted glare.

“That was to show you that your stance was all wrong.”

“Oh thank you for your kind words. Truly, you know how constructive criticism works.”

“You have to keep your feet closer together. Balance and a steady stance are important, but you also need to be able to adapt to changes. If you are standing like before, there is no room to side-step anymore or chance your position quickly. Try standing like this.”

Jaskier’s grumbling ceased and he tried to mimic the way Geralt stood. 

“Point the toes of your front foot forward and the ones from the other foot slightly to the side. Your feet shouldn’t align perfectly. Put your left foot just a bit more to the side. Yes, just like that! See how your weight is perfectly in the centre right now? But you can easily shift between putting it on either one leg.”

He circled Jaskier as the bard tested what Geralt had told him. Geralt nodded approvingly. 

“Good, now on to your arms. What exactly are you doing?”

Jaskier looked at him questioningly, as he raised the sword a bit higher, until it was pointed at the level of Geralt’s chest. 

“Keep that posture.”

Jaskier smiled, while Geratl crossed his arms and just stood there for a few minutes. The smile soon became tense and it didn’t take much longer until Jaskier’s arm started to tremble and a strained look appeared on Jaskier’s face. 

“Uhm, Geralt? For how long am I supposed to keep this up?,” he asked through gritted teeth. 

“You can put it down.” 

Jaskier’s shoulder sagged in relief as he was finally allowed to give his arms some rest.  
“You know you can just tell me what I need to change. You don’t have to demonstrate every time that what I’m doing is bad.” He sounded truly annoyed.

“Alright. But if I tell you to do something, you can’t complain or question me.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know that you are the expert on this. So what have I been doing wrong?”

“Nothing. The way you held your weapon was perfectly fine. If you had been holding a rapier or epee.”

A smile tugged at Jaskier’s lips again. “Well, I have been training to use a rapier when I was young, so thank you.”

“But you don’t have a rapier here. Right now, the only thing you have is my sword.”

“Why not a dagger? I have seen you use one before.”

Geralt quirked an eyebrow. “Do you really believe you can go against an experienced fighter with only a dagger? Unless you have years of training using a small weapon, you would never get close enough to actually use it.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, but apparently he remembered Geralt’s teaching methods. Geralt doubted Jaskier would be very keen on trying to use a dagger against his sword. 

“But why can’t I use your silver sword, just for now? It is a bit lighter than this.” He lifted the steel sword a bit to emphasize his point.

Geralt’s eyes became dark. “That is a witcher sword. You should be thankful that you don’t have to use it.”

Jaskier winced. Geralt knew what he was going to say next. He didn’t want to hear the apology. So before Jaskier could open his mouth again, he continued his lesson.

“A sword is far heavier than a rapier. And it is not only used for stabbing but also for cutting. If holding it up and so far from your chest is your basic stance, your arms will tire quickly. Try pointing it downwards. No, not right in front of your foot, tilt it to the side. And rest the tip on the ground a bit. Yes, exactly like this. That is a position you can hold for however long you have to and you won’t be too exhausted when it comes to the actual fight.” 

He went on about offensive and defensive stances and the basic blocks and attacks. He showed Jaskier how to swing the sword, where to hit and how to parry. He told Jaskier where to aim when he wanted to go for the killing blow. He told him how if he only wanted to buy himself time or disarm his foe, he should aim for his thumbs to make it impossible for them to keep their grip on the blade. He showed him how to find the weak-spots in armour.

It evidently was hard for Jaskier to imagine hitting someone. He kept swinging at random spots in the air. At some point Geralt gave up on showing him the techniques and having Jaskier repeat them.  
Instead he moved behind Jaskier, so close that his chest almost touched Jaskier’s back. He could hear Jaskier’s heart beating rapidly. The exertion must really be getting to him. Geralt gently laid his hand over Jaskier’s and guided his movement. He swallowed.  
After a few tries, Jaskier was ready to do the motion on his own, but Geralt couldn’t let go yet. He tried to convince himself, it was just to make sure that Jaskier really got it. And Jaskier didn’t complain, so his lingering hadn’t gone into suspicious territory yet. He repeated the movement one more time before reluctantly loosening his hold on Jakier and stepping back. 

He swallowed once more against the lump that had formed in his throat at the loss of contact. Jaskier looked a bit crestfallen. 

“Don’t worry. We have practiced it enough together. I am sure you will be able to do it on your own,” Geralt said as encouragingly as he could. “Just try to follow what I am doing.”

He showed the technique again and Jaskier mirrored his movements as best as he could.  
Pride welled up in Geralt as he saw how his little lark slowly became a bird of prey in the confident way he handled the sword. Now that he saw some progress in what he was doing, Jaskier seemed to lighten up as well.  
Geralt smiled at him. 

“I am impressed. Considering this is the first time you have held a sword in years, you are doing half-decent.”

Jaskier rolled at the sad attempt at a compliment. “So does this mean, we are done?” 

Geralt furrowed his brows. “Do you think you could hold your own in a fight against someone who had more experience fighting than just an hour?”

Jaskier slumped and groaned. “No, but-“

“Then take your stance again.”

Jaskier complied with only minimal complaining. Geralt stood opposite of him, drawing position as well. 

“What we have done before were the basic attacks. Those are the ones you use against someone who has about the same stature as you and when you can’t use more elaborate techniques because of your surroundings or some other restraint.  
But there are other techniques, you need to know. It is important that you show restraint and don’t use up all of your energy at once. Ration your strength. Whatever you do, do not run with your sword. You will be exhausted before you even get the chance to use it. Try to use your surroundings to get an advantage. You are creative, you should put your strength on that. But don’t get to flashy. When you have to evade an attack, don’t do pirouettes or leaps. A small step to the side is often enough to get out of harm’s way. Try stabbing me with a forward motion.”

Jaskier hesitated and slowly thrust the sword forward. He would never be fast enough to actually hit Geralt and still he held back in fear of hurting him. 

“No, again. Like you really mean it.”

Jaskier stared at him almost outraged. “I don’t want to hurt you. I am most definitely not going to stab you!”

“If you ever manage to hurt me with a sword, I will have deserved it and we will end your training immediately. Now do it. Correctly this time.”

Jaskier remained unmoving for a moment, before repeating the motion Geralt had shown him, twisting his hip together with the arm-movement to gain more momentum. It was good form, though Geralt could still tell, it wasn’t quite as fast as Jaskier could have gone. Maybe a surprised human would have been hit by the sword, but Geralt had plenty of time to side step the attack, avoiding being wounded without having to use his sword.  
Jaskier made to get back into his starting position, but Geralt stopped him. 

“Look at how we are standing right now. You are wide open and unguarded, your sword pointing away from me and with no advantageous way to build up enough momentum for another swing. While I have broken right through your guard with my sword at the ready. I didn’t even have to do much. And I already have you rather defenceless.” 

Geralt could see Jaskier swallow, their faces only inches apart in this new and for Jaskier unexpected position. 

“Yes, rather.” Jaskier’s voice was strangely breathless. Was he exhausted already? Sure, there was sweat dampening his forehead, but that was to be expected. But Geralt would have thought that as a singer, Jaskier would have known how to control his breathing.

“Now you try it,” Geralt said and backed away again. Jaskier cleared his throat and went back to his position. 

Geralt went slow on Jaskier. They repeated the motion again and again, until Jaskier didn’t accidently move in the wrong direction anymore. Geralt nodded his approval. 

“Good. We can take this even further. What you have practiced now was only the defence. But you can turn it into an offensive move. Attack me again.”

Jaskier did. Like before, Geralt evaded him with a small movement to the side, but instead of stopping here as the had done up until now, he grabbed Jaskier’s sword-arm with his free hand and pulled him in the direction he had already stabbed while turning his body to add even more force.  
Jaskier stumbled and would have fallen, probably landing on the sword he had dropped in shock, had Geralt not quickly stopped his fall, holding him in the air, only a small distance from the ground. He pulled him back up and checked him over quickly.  
When he had made sure, Jaskier was alright, he explained what he had done and instructed Jaskier to try it. 

“No, not like that. You are pulling with strength. You are not going to be able to bring me down like this.”

Jaskier clicked his tongue exasperatedly. “But you used strength!”

“No, I didn’t. I used momentum. That is why I turned as well. And why I didn’t hesitate so long before grabbing your arm. Your reaction has to come instantly. If you wait too long, your opponent will have lost their own momentum.”

“But you never fight like that! You are all fancy twirls and strong blows!”

“You are right. But you are different from me. My attacks are based on strength, because I will most likely not run out of it. You are lithe and quick. You should train on reflexively fast moves that don’t need much strength. Don’t give me that look. I’m not calling you weak. But we both know that your muscles are already tired and you are getting sloppy.”

“Yes, because we have been doing this for hours now. I already feel blisters on my hands. I’m sorry but the calluses on my hands are only for playing the lute and my arms are hurting so bad, I can’t hold a sword without shaking.”

Geralt scowled. “This is where it becomes most important to continue. You have to learn to push through the pain and exhaustion. If you give in at the first sign of pain, you are dead in a fight.”

“We didn’t even take a break to eat, for crying out loud!”

“You won’t have time to eat in a real fight either.” 

Jaskier threw his sword on the ground. “Well, this isn’t a real fight! I don’t get into real fights.” 

It was true. The drunken brawls Jaskier sometimes got in couldn’t possibly be counted as fights. It would be an exaggeration to say that Jaskier kept out of trouble when he was travelling alone, but no matter how many foolish decisions Jaskier made, he never got caught in a duel or a situation where he had no choice but to fight. He was smart enough to talk himself out of the clutches of a cuckholded spouse and agile enough to escape being mugged. Those were minor threats at the most. 

Jaskier thoughts seemed to have taken a similar direction. As he continued his rant, his voice grew louder and sharper.

“You are always there to protect me; I am perfectly safe with you. And don’t think I’ll stray from your side for long enough to get seriously hurt. For fuck’s sake, we’ve been travelling together for over a decade! Where is this sudden need to see me able to fight coming from?” As soon as he had spoken the words, his eyes went wide. He stumbled backwards. “You are not going to leave me, are you? Don’t tell me you are teaching me how to keep myself safe, because you aren’t going to do it anymore!” 

Jaskier blinked furiously, but Geralt could still see the glistening in his eyes.  
Geralt was taken aback. How on earth had Jaskier come to that conclusion? “I am not going to leave you.”

It didn’t calm Jaskier in the slightest. “Then why are you so hell-bent on making sure I can fight?”

Because every goddamn night for the past few years he had seen Jaskier bound in a cave, kicked and threatened by Elves, in his dreams. He had seen him almost losing his voice to a Siren that had captivated him, getting attacked by a Djinn, being in the middle of the fight at Pavetta’s feast with only a lute to shield him from any attacks. And now he also saw him dying by Geralt’s own hand.  
He was not afraid of his precious lark getting into a fight. He was afraid of him not getting the chance to fight. It had happened before and every single time it had been Geralt’s fucking fault. Jaskier had only escaped with his life because of dumb luck and because Geralt had been there. What if he wasn’t some day? 

But he couldn’t say any of that. As far as he knew Jaskier hadn’t noticed his nightmares yet. It wouldn’t be fair to burden him with the knowledge of them.

“Again,” he growled. 

That had obviously been the wrong thing to say. Jaskier’s shifted from being worried and teary-eyes to outright ire.

“I am not a witcher, you don’t have to train me like one!”

Geralt cringed back. His face closed off. He thought of the lashes of the whip he would receive when messing up. He thought of not being able to walk without pain and still having to keep going. Was that how Jaskier felt about how he was treating him?  
Geralt hadn’t been trained with gentle words and patience. He had only ever learned one teaching method and that was pain and discipline. He wanted to do better. He didn’t want Jaskier to be in pain because of him. That was the whole point! But how did one go about teaching someone to defend themselves without them learning to endure pain?

Geralt’s voice was almost unrecognizable when he said “This is nothing like how a witcher trains.” He tried his best to say it matter of fact. But no matter how much he steeled his expression, a tiny piece of what he felt must have slipped through a crack in his impassive mask, because Jaskier’s eyes widened. Geralt could hear the change in his heart’s rhythm. “I am so sorry Geralt, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

He knew that. Of course he did. But he couldn’t help the icy feeling that spread through his chest. His throat restricted and he could feel his mouth going dry. He needed Jaskier to understand why he was doing this.  
Without thinking he blurted it out. “I have nightmares.”

Jaskier furrowed his brows and licked his lip quickly, before settling on. “I know.”

“You what?”

Jaskier fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “I have noticed you had trouble sleeping for a while. That’s why I compo- nevermind that. It’s not important. I thought this was a normal effect of your work.”

“It isn’t. Witchers aren’t supposed to have nightmares.”

“Bollocks! Everyone has nightmares. And not sleeping is not a solution, even if they were getting worse.” 

So Jaskier had noticed all of it. He cursed inwardly. He thought he had been able to cover up his aggravating nightmares. 

Geralt could practically see the dots connecting in Jaskier’s head. “It has been like this since the Doppler, hasn’t it. This-you being worried about me, doesn’t have to do with what you told happened that day, does it?” 

Geralt nodded. It was little more than a jerk of his head, but it was enough to soften Jaskier’s face. 

“Oh, Geralt,” he whispered. “Dearest, I am so sorry. I had no idea it was that bad.” 

Geralt didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Without any hesitation, Jaskier retrieved the sword he had abandoned on the ground. Geralt held him back from going into this stance again. 

“Just one more,” Geralt said. “I promise it will be the last one, but it is important.” 

He went back to Roach to take a dagger out of his saddlebags. He handed it to Jaskier who looked between the dagger in his hand and Geralt.

“You want me to fight with two weapons?”

“No. I am going to show you a trick another witcher had invented during the beginning of his training, when he was still smaller and weaker than the others.” Lambert had received a punishment for it. Vesemir had called his technique ‘not fighting properly’, but even back then, Geralt had thought of how brilliant it was, despite its recklessness. “I want you to throw away the sword. Literally throw it way. When a stronger enemy has you cornered and you have used up all of your strength, abandon your sword. It won’t be of much use to you, when you don’t have the energy to go through the techniques I showed you, anymore. Use it as a distraction and do it in as grand a gesture as you possibly can. Your opponent will follow the movement, expecting an attack. That is when you use the dagger with your other hand. No more disarming and prolonging the fight. The moment you throw away your sword is the moment you have to make peace with the thought of killing someone. You will not get a second chance at this. Aim to kill or die yourself. Only do this as a last resort, when all else fails. Never do this carelessly.” 

Jaskier nodded solemnly. Geralt could see how serious he was in the way he kept quiet and focussed as Geralt ran him through the motions of the move again. 

It didn’t take him long, until he had mastered this trick and Geralt was satisfied with him. He could even see the small proud smile on Jaskier’s face reappear, when Geralt declared that he had done good. And he truly had.

Maybe the nightmares would stop, now, that Jaskier had a fighting chance. He just hoped he would never need to use it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I got a bit carried away with the fighting. Once again, research has left me absolutely confused. Reading about the moves doesn't help me understand them at all (yes, I know I'm a hypocrite). So all my knowledge from fighting with a sword comes from stage-fencing which looks cool but is useless in a real fight.  
> The rest of the moves and stances I described come from Jiu Jitsu (a weaponless martial art). I know those moves don't really translate well into a sword-fight, but I think that the principles of it would really fit Jaskier. And the evasive move is something that can actually be used against a knife attack and a sword is like I big knife, I guess, so...  
> Also all of Geralt's criticism are things my trainers criticized me for, so most of what I have written is more or less realistic.  
> Except that last move. Don't throw away your sword
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos <3 It makes me really happy to see that people like this story


	7. I Sing To You

**I Sing To You**

They didn’t kill him. They didn’t even have the decency to knock him out and spare him the dread of having to walk back to his own cell. They merely seized him and dragged him along with them. 

The only small triumph Jaskier felt was when they came past the now torn flag he had ripped of the wall that lay discarded on the floor. He made a point of stomping extra hard when he was guided to walk over it. 

The smugness was soon wiped of his face though and replaced with barely concealed horror as it dawned on him. He hadn’t paid attention to where he was running on his flight from Cahir, but the hallways they were walking now were eerily familiar to him. The guards didn’t intent to throw him back into his cell. They escorted him to the scaffold that was Cahir’s room.  
Without his mind’s command, his feet planted themselves on the ground. His body refused to take a single step further, but he had no choice. The whole ordeal of being dragged and shoved by the Nilfgaardians was so much like that day he was captured that for a moment he had the ridiculous thought that it was still the same day. That he had just fallen asleep and dreamed up all the horrors of being beaten and starved and attacked by a man who had his own face. But no. Of course it hadn’t been a twisted nightmare. He had the scars and blossoming bruises to disprove it.  
And judging from Cahir’s cold expression when the doors opened and he laid eyes on Jaskier, there only was more pain to come. 

The knight stayed silent, his stone-hard face giving nothing away, as one solider explained to him how they had found Jaskier’s cell abandoned and then had heard the screams of the slain soldier. The only reaction he had to the report was a curt “Who was supposed to stand guard at his cell?” 

One round-faced soldier tentatively raised his hand. Jaskier recognized him as the one who had come into his cell just in time to prevent more pain from being inflicted or lives from being lost. Cahir didn’t spare Jaskier’s saviour so much as a glance, before turning to the man who had spoken before and said “You know what to do with him.” 

The fear in the guard’s eyes, as he was immediately apprehended by two of his brothers in arms, matched the fear that ran through Jaskier’s blood. For a split second their eyes met.  
Had anyone told him that the day would come that he felt a sort of kinship with a black-clad, he would have laughed. Now he felt more like crying as the man was taken outside to face who knew what fate. Jaskier watched in silence, unable to move out of fear he would draw Cahir’s attention to him sooner than he had to, as one soldier after the other left the room until it was only him and Cahir left. 

“Sit down.” 

This was the voice of a man who had reached the limit of his patience. He would not accept insubordination.  
Jaskier looked around. The room wasn’t exactly stuffed with furniture. It had a table and two cushioned chairs on opposite sides of it. When Cahir didn’t elaborate, Jaskier hesitantly lowered himself on the chair closest to him. His legs thanked him for the relief, but the tension didn’t leave his body. This was the room he had heard arguing in before. Was this the same chair the shifter had sat in? The body was nowhere to be seen, but there on the floor were the remnants of blood that had hastily and sloppily been cleaned up. His eyes were fixed on the spot.  
The sudden scraping of a chair across the floor made his had snap back up. 

“Give me your hands.” 

Cahir’s voice was dangerously low. Jaskier didn’t dare disobey. His hands trembled as he rested them on the table between them. He flinched involuntarily as Cahir took them in his own hands, studying them carefully. His whole demeanour was far too calm. Like the blue sky before raging storm clouds would fill it in a flash. But there was no storm. Not yet. Cahir cradled his fingers lightly, almost tenderly. No, this was no storm. This was so much worse. 

“That was quite a daring escape you attempted there,” he said in the tone of a casual conversation that made Jaskier’s hair stand on end. It _had_ been a daring escape, an off-chance and the only one he would get. He’d messed up and now there would be no second try. “Rather impressive for a humble bard who insists that he’s just living a normal life.”

Jaskier swallowed thickly. The panic that had risen up in him had reached its highest point and was now bursting out of him in form of an inappropriate gush of words. 

“Normal life is relative. It might have escaped your attention, but most people are kind of preparing for a war. There is this army, you see, that threatens to kill a lot of people. Best to be prepared.”

“And that includes knowing how to kill a soldier with nothing but a trinket?” 

Jaskier didn’t answer. He had nothing to say to that. No matter how much he had done to protect himself from the dangers of the war, actually killing someone and having their blood on his hands was something no amount of desperate planning could prepare you for. 

Cahir’s eyes didn’t leave his, but he leaned forward slightly. Like a predator going in for the kill. “I couldn’t help but notice that you had forgotten something. And what a bad host I would be if I let my dear guest leave something behind.”

He let go of Jaskier’s hands. It felt like a small blessing.  
A feeling that was soon replaced by the feel of a punch in the gut as Cahir reached behind him and produced something from the floor. His lute.  
Tears welled up in Jaskier’s eyes. He hadn’t thought he would see her again. He had assumed that his captors had left her in the town where they had taken him in.  
But the joy of seeing her again was overshadowed by the sight of Cahir holding her by the neck like one would a dead goose. It looked unbearably wrong. 

Cahir’s eyes stayed trained on Jaskir, gauging his reaction, as he strummed the strings carelessly. Jaskeir couldn’t repress a cringe. It was as if the notes physically hurt him, dissonant and out of tune as they were. Cahir started plucking random strings, as he spoke again.

“I have to say, this is quite shabby for an elven lute. I had expected something more extravagant from you.” He gave a pointed look at Jaskier’s clothes as if he wasn’t to blame that Jaskier’s shirt was torn and bloodied. “But I guess that could be said about all of you.”

Jaskier couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. He had no idea where this was supposed to lead to, but he sure as hell knew that the instrument that Cahir held all wrong was as far from an elven lute as it could get. As dear as it was to him, it was a rather cheap instrument. Given the current situation, he had been glad he could even afford maintaining a lute of this meagre quality. But comparing her to an elven lute was just ridiculous.

Cahir’s fingers stilled at his reaction. “If it’s worth so little to you, how about I spare you the trouble of getting rid of it yourself. I can do it for you just now.” 

He swung the lute towards the table.

“NO!” No, no no! Not his lute! It was all he had left!

Cahir stopped mid-air, only inches away from the fatal collision. “Oh, so this is important to you after all. I understand. What is a bard without his instrument?”

Of course it was important! It was his most treasured possession! 

Cahir sighed. And smashed the lute right in front of Jaskier whose eyes went wide with horror. The wood splintered as the instrument burst. Wooden shards flew around, pricking Jaskier’s hands that were still resting on the table, now helplessly grasping for the broken instrument. Tiny cuts covered his hands, but the sting of them was outweighed by the pain he felt when looking at his beloved lute, broken with no hope of becoming whole ever again. He wanted to scream. Wanted to claw out Cahir’s eyes. But he just sat in the chair, mute and defeated, wishing that this wasn’t real, gods, it couldn’t be real. His mind went number the longer he stared at the instrument that was barely recognizable as such anymore. 

Cahir leaned back in his own chair with a blank expression as he answered his own question. “A bard without his instrument is a glorified canary. So, will you sing for me when I ask you a question?”

Jaskier shook his head. Couldn’t stop shaking it. This man had broken his skin and he had been so close to breaking his spirit. Now he had broken his lute. And if anything, that only gave Jaskier new strength to withstand his torment and be it only out of spite for the man who had taken everything from him when he already hadn’t had anything left to give except his songs and hope that had now been taken from him as well. 

“Oh don’t look like that, songbird. You don’t need that here anyway. And from what we have seen today, you have a rather extraordinary swordsmanship for someone with allegedly no training. Isn’t that so much more useful than playing a silly instrument?” 

He grabbed Jaskier’s hands again. The bard who wasn’t a bard anymore cringed back violently, but he couldn’t free his hands from the grip that now held no pretence of gentleness. Cahir’s caress of his fingers sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine in the worst way possible. 

“These fingers just seem to have so many talents,” Cahir said coldly. “Playing the lute, useless as that now is. And now apparently also lock-picking and sword-fighting.”

Jaskier’s voice was pressed. He must have lost all of his marbles to say it, but if ever there was an opportunity to say it, it was now. And it was a wonderful show of how much he didn’t take his opponent seriously, even though he very much did. 

“Believe me, that’s not all my fingers can do.” He accompanied his words with a wink that looked painfully artificial, but it certainly had an effect, even though it wasn’t necessarily the one he usually went for.

The Nilfgaardian stopped the caress of his fingers and instead twisted them in an unnatural angle. Jaskier wheezed. He tried to turn his arm and somehow lessen the unbearable stretch, but it was all for naught. 

Cahir’s eyes were as cold as a winter storm as he bent Jaskier’s fingers even more. “What a shame it would be if you were to lose those talented fingers of yours.” 

“Please,” Jaskier whimpered, his resolve to spite Cahir quickly dissolving. 

“Sing for me and I will spare your fingers. Give me an unsatisfactory answer and I break a finger. It’s an easy trade, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jaskier’s wet eyes widened. No. He couldn’t do that. This was a cruel, impossible trade. There was no way for Jaskier to win this or worm his way out. 

“Where are the witcher and the princess?”

No, not that question! When he didn’t answer immediately, Cahir sighed.  
And yanked a finger back. Crack! Oddly enough, it didn’t hurt. In fact, he couldn’t feel a thing. It was as if a throbbing numbness spread through his finger. But it looked so utterly horrifying. The shock alone was enough to fill Jaskier with horror. The scream that came out of his mouth bordered on inhuman.  
When it broke of, he was panting hard, staring in terror at his finger that was standing out in a distorted angle that made his stomach churn. 

“I ask you again. Where are they?”

“I don’t know, I swear, I don’t know, please-“ The sobbing broke of, was interrupted by another snap and blood-curling scream. 

At the end, Cahir had gotten no answers. The screams had once again turned into his wordless song, not enough to drown out the white pain that now surged through Jaskier’s hands, but filling his mind enough that he stopped separating the old and new pain.  
Cahir left with no answers. And Jaskier was left without a single finger he could move without agonizing pain. 

“I must say I had thought you would be smarter than this. But what can you expect. Know that this gained you nothing, songbird. At least I have a guarantee now that you won’t be able to try and escape anymore.” 

He walked off, opening the door and letting a guard in who lifted Jaskier out of the chair by his arms. 

Instinctively Jaskier tensed, flexed his fingers. It felt as though hot metal simmered in his bones. The blinding pain had him gasp for air as if that would ease his pain. As the guard carried him out more than he guided him, Cahir stopped him. In another display of false affection, he brushed Jaskier’s hair out of his eyes. 

“I hope you will learn your lesson. Maybe we can talk after you had some alone-time to think things through. You are not a bard anymore. You have no instrument. All that screaming you did earlier surely wasn’t good for your voice either. And I sincerely doubt your fingers will ever play again. What use are you to that witcher of yours now? Why protect someone who wouldn’t take you back like this anyway?” 

**16 years into their friendship**

“So with a mirror in his hand, the Wolf went out to save the land! …but with a mirror, no. Armed with a mirror?” Jaskier stopped strumming his lute and looked up at Geralt, who had turned around in the saddle slightly. “Geralt what do you think, what would sound better for my song?” 

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think you should wait with composing for _after_ I have killed the beast?” 

Jaskier pranced around him and Roach while waving one arm dramatically. “Why, but imagine your triumphant return accompanied by a song about your heroic deed! And if the song is good – which it will be, obviously- it will bring us more money.”

“It won’t. The village doesn’t even have enough to pay me well enough as I would have wanted.”  
There had been times when witchers could haggle their price up or had the privilege to leave a place if they didn’t offer enough money. But after yet another phase of few contracts and subsequent hunger, Geralt had to accept what came his way. For these past months, Jaskier had been the one ensuring they had enough money to eat and sleep at inns. But he doubted the people in Lindenvale would be able to spare coin for a pretty song.  
“Their livestock has been ripped apart and you see how much damage the monster has done to the houses.”

Jaskier sighed and lowered his arms. “Alas, I still want a good song. So which version is better? Just ‘with a mirror’ or ‘armed with a mirror’? I would have to adjust the metre for the second version, but it does sound more dramatic, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t. It sounds like you picked all of your information out of a fairytale.” Which was most likely the case. “I am not going to fight the Basilisk with a mirror. If I ever do, I would use the mirror to smash it over its head. Even that would be more effective.”

Jaskier deflated. “Oh. Well, how am I supposed to know? You haven’t told me anything about Basilisks yet apart from correcting me that they are not Cockatrices, but Draconids. Whatever that means. So how about a bit more detail?” 

Geralt snorted and spurned on Roach to walk a tad faster. “They don’t turn people to stone. They are ugly and they breathe venom.” 

Damn that venom. He had been forced to spend the majority of their remaining money to buy ingredients for Golden Oriole, the invaluable potion granting resistance against the toxin. 

“‘They are ugly’, really? How am I supposed to make an epic ballad out of that?”

“I don’t care.” 

Not that Geralt didn’t appreciate his lark’s singing. He did, even if he wouldn’t admit it, but right now, he had other priorities. Like finding the Basilisk’s dwelling, before it could wreak havoc on the village again. Jaskier had insisted of course that he could just keep paying for the both of them, but every time he did, Geralt felt a pang in his chest.  
He was the one who was supposed to take care of Jaskier. His little lark did so much for him, even if Geralt didn’t know how to show his appreciation. He also didn’t know how to show affection very well. He wasn’t even sure if it would be appreciated. The only thing he knew he could do for Jaskier was show him adventures from as safe a distance as possible. He could do his best to keep Jaskier safe and he could pay for him to be comfortable. But there had been no contracts. So no adventures, no inspiration and no money. 

“Well, you should care. I am writing this song for you, after all. So I want to make it really good.” 

There it was again. A song _for him_. Geralt needed to give something back. Instead of answering, he dismounted Roach and walked over to the rubble lying on the ground. 

Jaskier caught up with him and nudged a piece of the rubble with his foot. He looked decidedly unimpressed. “You know, when you said we were going to an abandoned wine cellar, I had imagined something a bit different.”

Geralt put a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and carefully pushed him away, before he could accidently disrupt something and possibly even cause a cave-in. “The cellar might still be intact; this was only the entrance. And it is the best lead so far.” 

“So apart from being ugly and venomous, Basilisks are also keen on alcohol?”

“They are keen on dark spaces.” 

Geralt carefully pushed some of the debris away, until he could see a half-broken staircase leading down into the cellar. The wreckage covering the steps would make it even harder to descend and damn-near impossible to do so quietly, but Geralt didn’t have the time to do anything about it. 

Geralt stopped himself before he went down there and turned to Jaskier, giving him a stern look.

“You stay up here with Roach.” 

He would under no circumstance let Jaskier come face to face with a Basilisk in a constrained space. The descent alone was too dangerous for him. And Roach was smart. She would be able to alarm Jaskier should anything bad come their way in time to run away. 

“Geralt, seriously? A _wine_ cellar and you want me to stay up here?”

“A wine cellar with a dangerous monster inside.” 

“Oh please, you say that as if I had never seen a monster before. And how am I supposed to write a song about it, if you don’t let me watch? I know you won’t tell me about the details later.”

“Then don’t write a song.” 

With those words, he went down the tunnel-like stairs, not waiting for Jaskier’s undoubtedly scandalized answer.  
He was swallowed by the darkness immediately and found his previous thought confirmed. This would have been far too dangerous for Jaskier. He wouldn’t have been able to see a thing, unlike Geralt, for whom the darkness was no hindrance. 

He set one foot carefully in front of the other, trying to make no sound, but it was impossible. Some of the rubble loosened under his feet and slid down the stairs.  
Geralt froze, listening for a reaction. It came instantly. The flapping of wings and the unmistakable shriek of the Basilisk came from the far end of the cellar. And it was getting closer by the second.

“Fuck.”

Throwing caution into the wind, Geralt skidded down along with the debris until his feet found solid ground again. The monster was still at a bit of a distance, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. 

Geralt assessed the cellar. It was vaulted with a high ceiling. Not high enough to allow the Basilisk to plummet at him with full force, but it would make it possible for the creature to avoid his attacks by flying out of reach. He scowled. Apart from some supporting pillars and of course the long-forgotten barrels and bottles of wine, the cellar was empty, leaving a lot of space.  
Despite the restricting ceiling, it was practically the perfect environment for the Basilisk. 

As silent as a shadow, Geralt took cover behind the nearest barrel.  
He heard the scratching of claws as the creature landed not far from him. He peered over the edge of the barrel and cursed silently. The creature was bigger than he had thought. The villagers had heavily downplayed the monster’s size in hopes of bringing down the prize. 

The scaled monster’s head that looked like the ugliest imitation of a cock, swayed back and forth, searching for what had caused the noise. The claws tapped on the floor, as it moved around. 

Geralt adjusted the grip on his sword and leaped out of his hiding spot. He swung his weapon at the monster’s neck. It screeched again and swung a mighty wing around to protect its neck. The sword slid off it harmlessly, but Geralt spun around and stabbed once more. Just as before, it didn’t do any damage. 

The Basilisk flapped its wings and soared into the air and away from Geralt. The ceiling forced it to land soon.  
Geralt took the opportunity to crouch behind the row of barrels again. Quietly, he moved towards where the Basilisk had fled and rounded it, always covered by the barrels. 

He strained his ears, but he couldn’t hear any sign that the monster had discovered him. He put his sword back into its sheath, cringing at the scraping sound it made. It was a necessary evil. He needed both of his hands for what he was about to do.  
He climbed onto the barrels and without giving the monster a chance to react to the sudden movement, he jumped at it from above. It was rare to ever have the advantage of height against a winged creature and the beast had obviously not expected an attack from above.  
During his jump, Geralt had pulled out the sword again and pointed it downwards, as he landed on the monster’s back. It buried itself into the flesh, letting blood pour out of the wound. 

The Basilisk reared up and threw its head around. Geralt couldn’t keep his balance. He was thrown off, but managed to twist in the air, landing on his feet.  
Not wasting any time, he charged at the monster again. A sudden force flung him back. The Basilisk had swung its scaled tail around and hit him right across the chest and abdomen.  
Geralt crashed into a row of bottles, bursting them open. Shards and liquor that burned in the cuts he gained, rained down on him. 

A gust of wind warned Geralt of the Basilisk’s next attack. He leaped out of the way, as the beast gained height and swooped down on him. Geralt used his momentum to whirl around and swing his sword. He didn’t aim for the beast again. The stab wound he had caused before didn’t slow it down in the slightest and after the first shock, it didn’t seem to be bothered by it too much.  
No, Geralt aimed for what was sitting right next to the monster. His weapon ripped a deep tear into the barrel. Wood splintered and wine came gushing out, pouring onto the monster. 

It seemed to be slightly disoriented, but apart from that, it showed no reaction. Not yet anyways. Before it could hack or bite at Geralt again, he sprinted away as far as the space allowed and cast Igni.  
Flames burst out of his hands and set the alcohol ablaze. The fire roared towards the Basilisk. A panicked screech, laden with agony filled the air. 

Geralt couldn’t see enough to make out what the beast was doing. The dancing flames contrasted too much with the surrounding dark, casting jerking shadows. His eyes had to adjust and readjust too quickly. But judging from the pained cries that clearly rang through the cellar, his plan had worked.  
In fact, it had worked too well. 

With his struggling eyes, he saw the creature try to escape the flames. In the Basilisk’s panic, its flight was uncontrolled. The beast was so hell-bent on getting away from the flames that it collided with full force with the ceiling and pillars. A crash cut through the air, followed by the sound of falling stones. A heavy thud and then silence. The Basilisk was lying on the ground next to the stairs, motionless. 

Geralt began walking towards it, when a sharp cracking was heard. He froze and looked up from where the sound had caome. Dust trickled onto him, quickly followed by pebbles.  
Fuck. He had to get out. He had to make it past the fallen Basilisk that was blocking the way to the exit. He had just reached it, when he heard the first bigger rocks fall behind him, foreboding the cave-in. 

He had just enough time to cast Quen, throwing up the protective shield around him, before the ceiling came crashing down. 

When the cloud of dust had settled, Geralt pushed himself up. The magic shield had protected him from the worst of the stones, but the force had still pushed him down. 

He looked around. His sign had been big enough to shelter the slain monster and a big part of the staircase as well. But the entire cellar behind him was destroyed. 

The sound of rocks falling arose again. But this time it came from the stairs. Geralt cursed under his breath. It was just his luck to have his exit get blocked off completely.  
But no, the stones weren’t falling from another cave-in. They were being pushed out of the way. 

“Geralt!” 

Jaskier skidded down the broken stairs, feeling his way through the darkness. 

“Shit, Geralt are you there?” His voice was full of panic. 

“I’m here. Stay where you are, Jaskier! It’s too dangerous in here.”

Needless to say, Jaskier didn’t listen. He climbed clumsily over the monster lying in his way, not sparing it a second thought. Geralt saw him tumble aimlessly through the dark that was blinding to him.  
Geralt quickly went to him and grabbed one of his arms gently. The relieved smile that spread over Jaskier’s face could have been enough to illuminate the cellar. 

“Oh thank Melitele, you are safe! I heard the crashing and then the top of the stairs crumbled and I thought –“

Geralt interrupted him. “I told you to stay away.” 

Geralt didn’t give him any time to protest. He wouldn’t let Jaskier be in here any longer.  
He made to climb over the monster, as Jaskier had done before, taking his friend with him. 

“Geralt…?” Jaskier sounded panicked. And as soon as Geralt had set foot on the monster, he understood why. The muscles beneath him were moving. A claw pierced Geralt’s leg and threw him of the creature, pinning him down. He hacked at it, freeing himself.

Jaskier’s outcry made him whirl around and he finally saw what he had been too distracted to notice before. The creature had lifted its head up from the ground. The razor-sharp beak was wide open, but not with the intent to bite. He could feel the muscles working as the monster got ready to spew its venom. His stomach dropped. Jaskier was standing right in its way and he hadn’t taken the potion. He wasn’t going to survive this. Geralt ran over to him, his injured leg burning, but he knew, he would never reach him in time.

But the deadly toxin never made it out of the monster’s maw.  
With all his might, Jaskier swung his lute towards the Basilisk’s head. It got stuck in the beak, blocking off the venom. The beast threw its head around, ripping the instrument out of Jaskier’s hands. One forceful bite left the lute in splinters. Jaskier’s sacrifice hadn’t been enough. The Basilisk lunged forward for another attack. Its movements were slowed down considerably by its burns and the injuries it had gotten from the crash against the pillar, but it would still be fast enough to kill Jaskier. Geralt saw the tail of the monster swish around and hit Jaskier who was pushed forcefully on the ground. 

Before the monster could go for the killing bite, Geralt lunged at it, the pain in his leg forgotten. One swift motion with his sword and the head of the Basilisk fell to the ground, separated from its body. 

He limped to where Jaskier was lying. “Jaskier, get up, you are safe now.” He didn’t react. Geralt crouched down beside him and gently shook his shoulder. “Jaskier?” 

He could hear his breathing and feel his heartbeat, but his friend didn’t move. He turned him over and looked at his head, fear prodding at his chest. It wasn’t calmed, when he couldn’t see any outward injuries. If there were no wounds that wound have caused him to lose consciousness, he had to have been exposed to some remnants of the toxin after all. 

As gently as he could, he lifted the unconscious Jaskier up.  
Climbing over the slain monster and up the stairs that were covered in rubble while carrying his friend and having an injured leg, left Geralt panting. But he had to keep going. He just had to get him out of here and onto Roach. She would get them to a healer. 

Somehow through the pain and the rocks that were slipping off under his feet, he made it. Breathing clean air again after the dust felt strangely sharp in his lungs.  
Roach trotted over to him and nudged his shoulder, before doing the same to Jaskier. 

“Thank you Roach. We have to get him back to Lindenvale.” 

He talked with her while hoisting Jaskier onto her back. It calmed him, knowing that he wasn’t alone in this. Jaskier would be better soon. He mounted her as well, pressing Jaskier close to his chest to keep him from falling, when he spurned Roach to a gallop. He desperately hoped the town had a competent healer. 

“Why is this so familiar?,” the sorceress felt Jaskier’s head. “You know you should really take better care of your bard.”

She didn’t have to tell him. Geralt knew fully well that this was his fault. He paced the length of the room. 

“But you can heal him, Yennefer?”

As always, destiny had brought them together when he had least expected it. He hadn’t even made it halfway to the village, when he had come across her, gathering ingredients for a spell.  
One look at Jaskier had been enough for her to roll her eyes and tell him to come with her. 

Now she huffed and raised an eyebrow. “Can I heal the mild and absolutely non-magical effects of a toxin? Why, thank you for your confidence.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, Yen. I know how good you are.”

And how lucky Jaskier had been. Despite Yennefer downplaying the danger now, when she had examined Jaskier first, she had told Geralt that had he been exposed to more of the venom, he wouldn’t have made it out of the cellar at all. 

“Of course you do.” She turned back to Jaskier and lifted the blanket over his chest. “He is going to be fine. Just let him rest for a while. What about your leg?”

Geralt hummed nondescript. “It will heal. I did already drink my potion.”

Yennefer shrugged. “Alright then. I am going to take a bath. You could use one too. Come join me, if you want.” 

Geralt felt the cover of grime and blood on his skin. His hair was barely even white anymore from the dust that had settled in there. And the thought of joining Yennefer was tempting.  
But he couldn’t very well leave Jaskier to wake up alone. 

“I’ll stay with him.”

She nodded as if she hadn’t expected any differently and left the room. Geralt sat down on the edge of the bed of the one spare bedroom. He had been surprised to find that Yennefer had been satisfied with living in a small cabin for now, but he was thankful for it being so void of people, unlike the first time they have met. 

He let his mind wander as he stayed by Jaskier’s side, waiting for him to stir. He knew that this was the safest place for him and he trusted Yennefer’s skills, but with every passing minute that Jaskier didn’t move, he grew more agitated.  
He abandoned his spot on the bed and resumed his pacing from earlier. Despite the fight mere hours before, he was brimming with nervous energy.

How had he let it come to this? He was supposed to take care of Jaskier. He had known that it would be risky for him, but oh no, he couldn’t have just left Jaskier in the village where he would have been safe.  
He had asked Jaskier to stay there, of course, but both of them had known it was only out of habit at this point. He had been glad to have Jaskier’s company on his way to his fight, even if he had been irritated by their general situation. And what had that led to? To Jaskier getting hurt! He should have known better than to bring him, just because he wanted to enjoy a few more moments with him. And he should have known that stupid, brave Jaskier would come after him when he thought Geralt was in trouble. But why couldn’t he look out for himself?

He heard movement behind him and with two long strides, he was at Jaskier’s side again. He felt the overwhelming need to say something, though he didn’t know what.  
So he just said what he had been thinking about. 

“Why must you always be so reckless? Following me into the dark where you can’t see and that could have buried you alive! What could have possibly made you think that was a good idea?”  
He knew it was unfair and that he was a hypocrite. He would have rushed to Jaskier’s side without hesitation, had the places been reversed. But that would have been worth it, because he would have protected Jaskier. Whatever reason Jaskier had been doing it for, it could never have been worth it.  
“When I taught you how to fight, I didn’t think you would rush head-first into danger. And you didn’t even use a real weapon. You could have died, Jaskier!”

When he finished his tirade, he was breathing heavily. It took a moment for his mind to calm again. Only now, he noticed how eerily quiet Jaskier was. He hadn’t said a single thing to defend himself against the unfair words. There was a hollow look in his eyes and for a moment, Geralt was afraid Yennefer hadn’t been able to heal him completely after all.  
But Jaskier lifted his head the tiniest bit to look at Geralt. His eyes were wet.

“Did you get my lute out of there?”

Geralt faltered. The lute. In his rush to get Jaskier to safety he had completely forgotten about the broken instrument. Jaskier must have heard the answer in his silence, for he swallowed and averted his eyes. 

Geralt searched for words. He felt like he needed to justify his actions. “I had to get you to a healer. The lute wasn’t important in that moment.”

Jaskier’s breath hitched. “Not important? Geralt, that instrument is the most important thing I own. Without my lute, how am I supposed to get coin for food? How should I pay an inn to let me stay there? I have never learned anything besides how to be a bard.” His voice broke off.

“I will pay for your food and shelter. You know that.” 

Jaskier swallowed. His voice was wobbly, as if he was biting back tears. “And what when I stop travelling with you?” Geralt tensed and Jaskier added. “You are my dearest friend and I love being with you, but I will be a burden for you like this. Just another mouth to feed. I wouldn’t bring anything to earn my keep.”

“You are not a burden.” It was important that Jaskier understood. He was dear to him and lute or no, he would treasure every moment he could spend with him.

“But for how long?” Jaskier gave him a trembling smile. “Come winter, you will go back to your witchers’s keep. Come a serious injury and I won’t be able to follow you anymore. I need to know that I would be able to survive on my own. And I can’t do that without my music.”

Geralt understood too well. This had been exactly the same reasoning that had compelled him to go after the Basilisk even for a low price. He couldn’t have stayed dependent on his friend forever. So he had made stupid, selfish decisions that had let to Jaskier losing his instrument. 

He couldn’t help but voice his thoughts. “Then why risk it? Why go into that cellar after it crashed in the first place?”

Jaskier stared at him as if he was an idiot. “Because it was more important.” 

He felt like he was missing something. Something big. What could have possibly been more important than Jaskier’s livelihood in that moment?

The silence became uncomfortable and he saw Jaskier shift in the bed. He remembered the sorceress’s advice to let Jaskier rest. Agitating him like this had certainly not been helpful, so he said “You should try to sleep. I will ask Yennefer, if she can check your injury again, later.”

A shadow passed over Jaskier’s face at his words. He laid back down and turned his back to Geralt.  
Geralt took that as acknowledgement that he would rest more, and left the room. 

He found Yennefer sitting in the living-room, reading. Or rather, holding a book. Geralt felt that her mind was elsewhere.

“That went rather horribly,” she said flatly. 

“You eavesdropped.” It wasn’t an accusation, but a statement.

Yennefer ignored his remark and put the book away. “So what are you going to do about him?”

Something unpleasant reared up in his chest. “I am not going to abandon him if that’s what you mean. He is my friend.”

Yennefer quirked an eyebrow mockingly. “How far you’ve come. I remember a time when you refused to call him that although it was obvious you cared about him. And look at you now. Calling him a friend _and_ refusing to share a bath with me.” Her mouth twitched upwards. “And I didn’t mean you should get rid of him. So what are you going to do?” 

“First, I am going to make sure he is better.” He sat down next to Yennefer on the cushioned bench. “Then I will collect my reward for the Basilisk. We will have to ration, but hopefully it will last us until I get a better contract.”

“But what about the bard?” 

“He will come with me, of course. Don’t imply that he is a burden. I know you don’t like him, but he is …. important.”

Yennefer sheered off from him a bit and sighted. “You’re right. I don’t like him. But I like you and I can see that you care about him. He stays with you and cares for you and despite how I feel about him otherwise, I am thankful for that.” She paused and looked at Geralt strangely. “You should try and be thankful too.”

Geralt furrowed his brow. What was she implying? “I am.”

“Then maybe you should show him sometime. What he had done with the Basilisk was stupid. No surprise there, but he did it for you and he lost something valuable. Yelling at him does not show that you appreciate him.” She stood up and made to leave the room. At the door, she turned around briefly. “It is rare for people like us to find happiness. Make sure you don’t lose it.”

They both had thought they could be each other’s happiness. They had been. Again and again, but every time it had ended in a fight and one of them leaving. Their last break-up had been long ago. Enough time had passed for the old wounds to have healed. Apparently it had also been long enough that Geralt had found another who made him happy. And he did. Jaskier truly did make him happier than he had ever been with Yennefer, however good it had been with her.  
Still, he felt a pang at seeing Yennefer dismiss their time together like this. 

“You both can stay here for a while, until you figure out how to go on.” With that she left Geralt to sit alone in silence.

How was he supposed to know how to continue? After a while, his solitary silence got disturbed by soft singing. It was muffled by the door between him and Jaskier’s room, but he still heard it. It felt incomplete without the accompaniment of the instrument. Jaskier must have thought so too, for the song broke off after the first verse.  
The silence was almost louder than the music had been. Jaskier wasn’t silent. Not ever. 

Geralt stood up and went back to the room, where he was welcomed by a frustrated frown.  
He quietly closed the door behind him. There were no chairs and sitting on the bed again, now that Jaskier was awake would have been strangely intimate. So he remained standing, uncertain of what to do.

“Yennefer said we could stay here for a while,” he eventually said.

Jaskier snorted. “Oh, how gracious of her.” His words oozed sarcasm. 

“She has saved your life. Again.”

Jaskier threw his hands up in irritation. Geralt knew he didn’t mean anything by it. He was just hurt and needed to let it out somehow. Still, it was strange seeing Jaskier so agitated. 

“Yes, I know that she is a powerful sorceress and I am useless. No need to rub it in. I know that you heard me singing just now. I thought I could maybe still make music without an instrument, but it sounded pathetic!”

“It didn’t.” It was true. Jaskier’s singing had been nice. Of course it had, it was Jaskier after all. He was talented. But he couldn’t deny that the missing lute had been painfully obvious. It sounded as if Jaskier was only half-complete.

“Spare me your pity. No one is going to pay a bard who can just sing. And I don’t have the money to buy a new lute.” He let his gaze wander off, out of the window where it fell on Yennefer’s garden. “Maybe I could become a gardener. I could sell people flowers. That might make them happy, even if I don’t have music to give them.”

Geralt frowned. He couldn’t imagine Jaskier as a gardener. Surrounded by flowers, being inspired by them and composing a song about the beauty of a rose, yes, definitely. But the thought of Jaskier seeing a flower without having a song about it on his lips, felt wrong. He loved his music too much.

“But you wouldn’t be happy.” 

Jaskier sighed and turned away from the garden again. “No, I wouldn’t.” 

Silence settled over them. Jaskier was clearly unhappy with the thought of staying with Yennefer for longer than necessary. But as long as he had no autonomy, he was bound to stay, if Geralt chose to do so. While Geralt would have enjoyed Yennefer’s company, he didn’t want to see Jaskier so disheartened. But if they were to continue their travels, they would need money. Geralt cleared his throat. 

“I am going back to Lindenvale to collect the coin for the Basilisk.”

Jaskier acknowledged his words with a nod, but remained quiet.  
On his way out, Geralt stopped by Yennefer. 

“Could you go talk with Jaskier? He is not feeling well.”

Yennefer furrowed her brows. “I have extracted all of the toxin. He should be as good as new.”

“That’s not what I mean. He is despondent.”

“I would call that an improvement.” She ran a hand through her dark locks disinterestedly. “I don’t mind being spared his chattering.” 

“Yen, please. Just talk to him for a bit. Ask him to tell you about an adventure or something. I am worried about him and I don’t think he should be alone now.”

“And talking to me is better than being alone? You know we can’t stand each other.” She challenged Geralt with a look, but relented with an irritated sigh. “Fine. I will keep him company. But I only do it for you. Try to not to take too long.” 

“Thank you Yennefer. I will.” 

He couldn’t keep his promise. Getting to the ruins of the Basilisk’s lair, taking its head and riding back to the village hadn’t taken that long.  
What had been a hassle though, was explaining to the villagers that he wanted to change his price. It had taken hours for them to find what Geralt wanted.  
By the time he had finally made it back to Yennefer’s cabin, it was already beginning to get dark. 

He went to the spare room, where he had left Jaskier off first, but he wasn’t there.  
So Yennefer had actually held her promise to keep him occupied after all. He followed the sound of their voices that became clearer the closer he got. 

“… Basilisk a Draconid. It’s still different from a Dragon though.” 

Geralt smiled. He could imagine how much effort it must cost Yennefer to refrain from interrupting Jaskier and telling him how she knew very well what Draconids were.

“Well, for one, people don’t believe that Basilisk-hearts can heal all ailments.” 

“What do you mean, heal _all_ ailments?” 

Oh, so Yennefer really did listen to what Jaskier was saying. Geralt was almost impressed. 

“Well, in the tales of old the heart of a Dragon can restore the body to full health. The details vary from story to story of course.” 

Geralt entered the room they were sitting in and was surprised to find Yennefer leaned forward as if to make sure she didn’t miss a word. She really had taken Geralt’s words to heart, it seemed. And Jaskier was looking slightly more like himself, telling absurd tales of healing Dragon-hearts. 

Yennefer’s head snapped up, when she noticed Geralt standing in the doorway. “Ah, Geralt. Did you get what you wanted?”

He nodded and hummed in affirmation.

Yen stood up and pointedly rolled her eyes. “Good. Then I am finally released.” 

Jaskier opened his mouth, undoubtedly to say something indignant, but Geralt pre-empted him. He gestured for Jaskier to come with him back to his room. Jaskier complied, although reluctantly. 

Geralt was unsure of how to begin the conversation. He settled on “I preferred the second version. ‘Armed with a mirror’ sounds better than just ‘with a mirror’. And for the details about the Basilisk’s ugliness: You couldn’t see it in the dark, but they have the heads of a cock. I am sure you will be able to make the most inappropriate, innuendo-filled song out of that.”

Jaskier’s steps faltered. He thickly answered. “Thanks for telling me.” Lowly he added “But it’s not like I can use it now.”

Geralt held the door open for him. Jaskier entered the room and froze. His eyes were fixed on the lute that lay innocently on the bed. He didn’t say anything. 

As the silence dragged on, Geralt became nervous. Had he messed up?  
He looked from Jaskier’s shocked expression back to the lute. The longer he looked at it, the more he noticed the imperfections and crannies of the instrument. It was obvious that it had been used and not cared for very well. Jaskier deserved better. Self-consciously he entered the room as well.

“I know it’s not what you prefer in a lute. It isn’t nearly as good as Filavandrel’s lute or even your old one. But there was no instrument shop in Lindenvale and this was the only tolerable instrument they had to offer. I promise that I will buy you a better one, once I have the money and you can pick an instrument that you really like.”

A disbelieving laugh erupted from Jaskier’s mouth. 

“Geralt, this is- I love this. Thank you! Thank you so much!” 

Jaskier shook off his stupor and rushed to the lute, running his hands over the dark wood as if it was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen; as if it this cheap instrument Geralt had gotten him was more precious than even the lute from an elven king himself. He watched as Jaskier carefully tested the strings and tuned them slightly.  
And there he was again. Geralt’s lark, ready to fill the continent with song and joy, as he was meant to be. He wished, with all of his heart, destiny would never be cruel enough to take this away from his little lark ever again.


	8. I Do Belong

**I Do Belong**

He cradled his useless mangled fingers against his chest as he was half-carried away from Cahir and from his lute that wasn’t a lute anymore. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he should pay attention to where they were going. He shouldn’t make the same mistake twice and get lost again.  
But he couldn’t see the way through the tears that were freely flowing down his face and the image of his shattered instrument that was burned into his mind. 

And if he was completely honest with himself, he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. There would be no other escape attempt. Not with his fingers like this. Even if he succeeded to get out, he would have nothing to do, nowhere to go. He wasn’t a bard anymore, probably never would be again. So what did it matter if he stayed here till his death? What more could they do to him anyway? They had already taken everything from him. For good, this time. So why bother to struggle? Why try to remember how to get to his cell? 

But the doors they stopped in front of weren’t the door to his cell. His heart sped up as the soldier opened the doors, too loud, with too much squealing. This wasn’t his quiet door that didn’t fit the great heroic stories, but fit Jaskier so well, broken and pathetic as he now was. 

“What is this place?” 

He received no answer, only a small shove that had him stumble into the dark of this room. The bit of light coming in from the creak in the doorway got smaller. 

“No, wait!”

But it was too late. The door had shut with a loud thud that still echoed in Jaskier’s mind long after the real sound had faded. He was engulfed in complete darkness, without even a tiny window to indicate the passing of time. 

He carefully walked towards the spot where the light had disappeared, with his arms outstretched before him.  
A shock ran up this arms, as his fingers brushed against the metal of the door. He quickly retracted them, grinding his teeth together against the unbearable pain in his fingers. Fucking wonderful. The total darkness made it impossible for him to see even his own hands in front of his face. There was no sound apart from his heavy breathing and now he couldn’t even feel for any clues about where he was. No sound, no feel and nothing to see. It was nothing. It was too much. The void was threatening to swallow him. It pressed on him until he couldn’t breathe anymore. 

He screamed. His raw voice got swallowed by the walls, leaving nothing but emptiness and an ache in his throat. His knees hit the ground. He couldn’t believe it, but he missed his cell. Missed the speck of light, the cot, the odd sense of familiarity he had come to associate with it. 

The constant throb in his head that he had shoved to the back of his mind amidst everything that had happened resurfaced now that he had nothing else to focus on. His eyes stared into the blackness, not knowing whether it came only from the lack of light or his body finally deciding to shut down again. 

It must have at least partially been the latter, for he woke up with a startled wince, not remembering falling asleep. How long had he been out? A minute? An hour? Jaskier had no idea and no way of telling. 

He pushed himself up, mindful not to put any pressure onto his fingers, but he couldn’t help brushing them against the floor as he stemmed his weight on his elbows. His eyes had adjusted slightly; not nearly enough that he could discern anything about this room, but he could at least see the silhouette of his fingers before him without having to strain his eyes too much. The shape looked almost inhuman. He couldn’t make out the numerous cuts and marks that littered his skin, but he could imagine the purple-bluish hue that discoloured it.  
He sat there for a while, staring at his hands that were damaged beyond repair, too horrified by what this meant for him to allow any other thought. 

Time had lost its meaning, when he finally decided to do something, if only to distract him from the agonizing pain. A lump formed in his throat, impossible to get rid of, as he stood up on shaky legs.  
Jaskier took a deep breath. For some irrational reason he had dreaded this, delayed it, hoping if he didn’t get too acquainted with this new cell, he would still have a chance of getting out.  
But in his heart of hearts he knew that wishing was futile. He took a step. And another. His feet landing on the floor in hesitant, irregular steps were the only sound. 

He had been afraid this room would prove to be even smaller and claustrophobic than the other cell, but the speed of his heart and the raggedness of his breathing increased as he realized with every step he took that the opposite was the case. He hadn’t counted his steps, spending all his focus on keeping his increasing panic as low as possible, but it had been too many steps. This room was too big, too vast. Anything could be lurking in the shadows. For all he knew, it could go on for eternity. 

It became harder to breathe with every step. The room was suffocating in its immeasurable size. It might have only been a few steps he had taken, but they were too many for him, more than he had been able to walk before, that was for certain. 

He stopped, unable to go any further. He needed to turn back. He couldn’t keep walking in this direction forever and risk forgetting where he’d started out. So he turned back, like the coward that he was.  
As he made his way back, faster than he had been on his way there, he realized that he had already lost his way. He had no way of knowing whether he would end up in the spot he had started in. Had be passed it already? Or had he completely missed it? 

He just stood where he was, for only a moment, an eternity. No footsteps. No guards yelling at him, no questions, no screams, only his heart, beating fast, painfully. Painful like his hands, like the cuts covering his skin, like being forced to watch his lute splinter into a hundred pieces, like accepting that he was alone and no one would come for him.  
His thoughts were tumbling through his mind, impossible to hold onto.  
There was no witcher out there for him, caring about Jaskier enough to follow him to this cell that was too dark, too big, too silent. His spiralling mind clutched at the thought of the witcher, like it was a lifeline keeping him from drowning in his own head.  
Geralt of Rivia.  
The man who held the fate of the continent in his hands, who was far too important to risk his life for someone as utterly inconsequential as Jaskier. No matter what Cahir believed, there was no knight in shining armour out there for him.

He didn’t know when he had started singing again, his melody of woe bursting through the silence, just to fill the void. It replaced the thought of the witcher, the soft notes dulling his mind and filling it up with bittersweet notes that spoke of relief from all the pain, even if it had no words. This song had become the only constant in his life. He sang with a voice that becomes hoarser by the minute, giving the song a haunted note. The comforting sound soon becoming painful itself. 

The melody faded, leaving Jaskier in a silence even more pressing than it had been before. He had been a bard. He was not used to be this alone. He wasn’t supposed to be surrounded by this unsettling and all-consuming quiet. His place was in a crowded pub, amidst complaining drunkards and sighing admirers, where he had to raise his voice high to make himself heard above the noise of the other patrons.  
But no such noise was to be found now. No company either. 

The only times he saw other faces was when once a day the door opened, just a crack, letting in some light that Jaskier seeped in like it allowed him to live, though it burned in his eyes, as little as it was. But even though it hurt to look at, it was far crueller when it was taken from him again.  
The blinding beam of light would reveal a guard whose features were impossible to determine through Jaskier’s squinted eyes. Still, he strained his eyes, desperate to get a glimpse of whoever came to him, briefly as it was. 

Those glimpses of unrecognizable faces where not enough. Yet he knew that they were likely to be the best thing he would get. He wasn’t going to see a friendly face again, so he had to make do with the grim people, who despised him and only came to him out of duty. They weren’t here to provide company for a touch-starved prisoner; they were here to make sure his miserable life was stretched as long as necessary, putting a bowl and a pitcher with water on the floor for him. 

Each time, the door was hastily shut, leaving Jaskier in the dark, relying on the vague memory of where they had placed the bowl to find his meal. They never said anything, didn’t even spare Jaskier a glance other than to make sure he was still alive in there, cowering in the shadows. But they did give him the tiniest bit of a daily routine.  
But who knew, maybe they didn’t even come once a day. Jaskier had no way of determining whether they fed him regularly or were coming at varying times to make sure he had lost all sense of orientation.  
As if that was necessary. 

In what was presumably three days that Jaskier had spent in here, Cahir hadn’t shown up again to torment him. He didn’t need to. Every movement reminded Jaskier of his treatment, the pain in his hands getting worse by the hour. Holding the spoon to eat the broth was enough to set his swelled fingers ablaze in pain.  
He knew he had to push through. He knew he should eat, as long as he still had the option to, but with every spoonful of the viscous substance, his stomach reared up and nausea overcame him, rendering him unable to eat. 

And then there was the silence. The damned silence that was pressing down on him as if it wanted to crush him.  
At some point he started screaming again, if only to hear something, anything. It didn’t take long until his screams too died and his strained voice only occasionally allowed a wretched whimper. 

**The first day of not being friends anymore**

Geralt didn’t turn around to watch Jaskier leave. He would talk to him later, when he had calmed down. He couldn’t risk going after him now and blowing up at him again.  
His angry words, yelled at his friend still echoed in his mind. _If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands._  
It must have been the greatest lie he had ever told. He had regretted his words as soon as they had left his mouth, but the anger and frustration was still boiling inside of him. How had he messed this up so badly? He had had fights with Yennefer before, but this time she had sounded like this was final.  
He had lost one of the few friends he had. 

And then Jaskier had walked up to him, chatting him up, as if nothing had happened. Geralt knew he had been trying to distract him, but it had been the last thing Geralt had needed. He hadn’t even realized what he had been saying until the words had left his mouth. He had pushed Jaskier’s dejected expression out of his mind, wallowing in his anger.  
He had thought of Jaskier’s words from days before. He should find out what pleased him. He had tried to. He knew it, and Yennefer knew it, that what they had tried to fix and get back to, wouldn’t please either of them anymore. But Geralt had hoped so badly it would. 

But the reality was that he had already known, what pleased him. Yennefer had made him realize it, on the day, he had gifted Jaskier the lute. That radiating smile on Jaskier’s face was what pleased him. What he wanted to keep in his life more than anything. He loved that smile.  
His chest burned painfully at that thought. He shouldn’t feel that way. When he had loved Yennefer, it had been easy. She had been dangerous, as he was. They fought often, but he had always been assured that Yennefer would stand up for herself, when Geralt missstepped. No matter what she felt towards him, she would always know to put herself first.  
Loving Jaskier however was dangerous. He was devoted and defended Geralt, no matter what he did. When Geralt snapped at him, Jaskier would tell him what he thought, but there wouldn’t be consequences. Jaskier always thought of Geralt before himself. And he didn’t even feel about him as Geralt did of Jaskier! For him, he was just his dearest friend. And even for that Jaskier was punished again and again. Getting hurt, having no money, and now getting yelled at for something that hadn’t been his fault. 

Geralt felt a presence behind him, but didn’t turn around.  
Borch walked up to him. For a moment the Dragon stood there silently, looking over the landscape before them, bevor he said disapprovingly “An fictive past, no matter how beautiful and safe is not worth holding on to. Not in comparison to the real one, though it may be dangerous and full of pain.”  
Borch looked at him out of the corner of his eye, as if he wanted to make sure, Geralt was really listening to this new piece of unwanted and probably harmful advice.  
“The real, meaningful past should never be just thrown away. It is worth getting back.”

Geralt didn’t give Borch the satisfaction of reacting to his words. He had already spent too much time listening to the Dragon and playing his game.  
Without acknowledging him, Geralt turned and left the mountain top. 

On his way down, he kept an eye open for Jaskier, but it didn’t seem as if he had stopped to take a break from the walk. At night-fall, Geralt halted and settled down on the floor. He hoped wherever Jaskier was, he would be smart enough to not continue walking through the night. He wouldn’t find his way back to Roach in the dark.  
Geralt would get to him tomorrow. 

It took Geralt the majority of the next day to make his decent, mostly because he kept an eye on the trail Jaskier had left behind. Thankfully he hadn’t strayed from the path they had taken on their way up, except that he hadn’t taken the short-cut again.  
Geralt also saw no signs of a fight, so Jaskier had managed to keep away from any unpleasant creatures that dwelled on these mountains. That meant, he had made it back safely to Roach. 

But when Geralt reached his mare, Jaskier was nowhere to be found. Roach greeted him by nibbling at his shoulder, but Geralt didn’t react. 

“Where the hell is he?” 

Geralt couldn’t think of a plausible reason for Jaskier to not wait for him with his horse. He was sure that he would have noticed if Jaskier had strayed from the path.  
The harsh words he had banned from his mind the past day resurfaced with a sudden force. If Jaskier had taken what he had said to- no, yelled at- him as anything but the thoughtless and unjustified outburst it had been, he would have thought that Geralt would stay up on that mountain brooding for even longer than he had.  
Of course, he wouldn’t stay with Roach, when he could just as well go to the inn where they had heard about the Dragon chase to begin with. It wasn’t far, not even an hour, and it promised a comfortable bed and food for the probably exhausted bard. 

Geralt quickly got on Roach and hied her on. The thought of getting to Jaskier and being able to maybe talk about this encouraged him to ride Roach at full speed. 

He entered the tavern-room of the inn and was greeted by the usual view. Someone was calling for more ale, some gambler was cursing his luck and the raised voices promising a brawl. With no little satisfaction, Geralt recognized the latter as belonging to one of the dwarves from the hunt.  
After scanning the room and finding it strangely empty of his friend, he made his way over to the dwarf quickly. For a moment, the dwarf looked at him challenging, before he narrowed his eyes and slurred in a semi-whisper “So you made it back down too? ‘was wondering when you’d show up.” 

He had clearly used some of his prize-money for alcohol already. Geralt hoped, he could handle his drink well enough to give him answers. 

“I am looking for my friend, Jaskier. Have you seen him?” 

He was tense as he waited for the dwarf’s face to scrunch up in the effort to remember. All of the sudden, he opened his eyes wide and gave a barking laugh. 

“Ohh, you mean the bard? Yeah, he got here. Refused to sing – thank g’dness for that- but he really brought down the mood. Sat in a corner and got drunk. He looked like he was about to cry.” He laughed again, but was interrupted by his own belching. “Someone probably insulted the lad’s singing again.”

Dread settled in Geralt’s stomach. Insistently, he pressed on. “So he is still here?”

“Nooo, he left about an hour ago. Looked really fuckin pissed, I tell you.” The dwarf contemplated him, looking almost sober for a moment, but with the wisdom and solemnness of a drunken man he said “If I were you, lad, I would not try to find ‘im. I don’t know what happened on that mountain with all of you, but it looked bad. Whatever it is you took from him, at least leave him his choice in leaving you. Even if he cert’nly didn’t do that with much dignity.” 

He nodded sagely and took another swig out of his tankard.  
Geralt left him to it and stared at the door of the tavern, as if he could will Jaskier to come back. The words of the dwarf repeated in his mind over and over, before they really sank in.  
Jaskier wasn’t going to come back. Not this time. Not ever again. Jaskier had finally realized that he was better off without a man who yelled at him and didn’t know how to show his appreciation. Geralt had always known it had only been a matter of time until this day would come. Jaskier had been bound to figure out life with him wasn’t worth keep fighting for.  
But over the past years, Geralt had started to hope that it would be the constant threat of monsters and the discomfort of a life on the road that would make Jaskier see reason. He had dared to believe that _he_ wouldn’t be the one to drive Jaskier away after all.  
He clenched his teeth. How could he have been so foolish? 

The unwanted memory of the day he had thought the Doppler pushed itself to the front of Geralt’s mind. Jaskier had been so sure that Geralt would never do anything to hurt him. He had said, he knew for a fact that he was safe with Geralt.  
How wrong he had been. Geralt was worse than a monster. Monsters didn’t just forget what damage their actions could cause. Geralt had forgotten. Had not cared enough to remember what he was doing to Jaskier. Running him through with his sword would have been more merciful than the damned, poisonous words he had thrown at the man, he had been arrogant enough to call his friend. Why had it have to be words? Geralt had never found them before. He had lacked any and all words to tell Jaskier how he truly felt about him, so why had these angry lies come so easily? 

Without thinking, Geralt stormed out of the tavern, set on finding Jaskier and making amends. He had just reached Roach, when he halted. What was he doing? Was he really going to track down the man he had just hurt so badly and coax him back into this life that made him so miserable? He couldn’t do that to Jaskier.  
Yes, Jaskier was hurt now, but he would recover from this. He wouldn’t let the memory of Geralt’s words keep him down. He would find a new muse, one that was worthy of his songs. Soon, he would be singing in taverns again, travelling the continent on his own terms and find happiness in other people’s company. Surely. 

An ugly unnamed thing gnawed at Geralt’s heart. He tried to convince himself that it was better like this. For Jaskier and also for him.  
He had never wanted Jaskier to follow him, after all. Now he could back to doing what he was meant to do without having to always keep an eye on a reckless bard who would storm after him to make sure, he wasn’t hurt. Now there would be no more never-ending prattle of someone who wanted to share every pretty flower and every thought and feeling with him. There would be no more distracting too-bright smiles that were impossible to look away from. No more singing his praises, as if he deserved them when in reality he was as far from worthy of the praise as one could possibly get. 

It was fine. Witchers were supposed to be alone. A lone wolf, that’s what he was. The mutant. The butcher. Everything else had only been an illusion, Jaskier had made people believe in. A beautiful lie that, the more often Jaskier had told it to him, the more he had wanted to become worthy of it. But now he had thrown away his chance. 

Cold resignation swept over him, as he pressed his face against Roache’s neck as if she could hide him from the world. He repeated it like a mantra in his mind. He would be fine. He was made for being alone. He would be fine. 

It didn’t take long until it became painfully obvious that he was far from fine.  
The realization what it meant to be truly alone, hit him like a punch in the face. The most time he had spent apart from Jaskier in almost two decades, had been never much more than the winter-months. Then they had always found each other again. He had always known he wouldn’t have to be on his own forever. Now, he sometimes found himself wondering where he would meet Jaskier again, before it hit him again that he wouldn’t see him again. 

In hopes of escaping the memory of Jaskier, he focussed more on his work than he had done in a long time. He accepted contracts he would have thought to reckless for the little money that was offered him. Anything to get his mind off Jaskier’s smiling face that had fallen and lost all carefreeness with every single one of Geralt’s words.  
It didn’t work. The memories kept haunting him. The nightmares returned. If anything happened to Jaskier now, he wouldn’t be able to save him. He wouldn’t even hear about it.  
So instead of protecting Jaskier, he killed monsters. 

The disdainful whispers that had declined with every song Jaskier had sung about him returned in full force. People grew quiet and tense around him again, like they hadn’t in a long time. Good. They _should_ be afraid of him. Jaskier had been lucky to have gotten away. 

And yet, every time, Geralt heard the familiar sound of a lute being strummed, be craned his neck and strained his ears. What if the notes that resonated through the inns and flew across the marked-places belonged to Jaskier? But no matter how much he hoped despite himself, they never did. 

And with time, any happy songs he heard were replaced by quiet melodies. The frightened whispers were no longer only about him. Rumours spread about the Nilfgaardian army marching towards Cintra. His blood froze. Cintra, where he had left yet another person, he had been supposed to look after. He couldn’t risk being too late to right this wrong of his as well.  
He rode as fast as he could to finally find his child surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. The next ones will be longer again. I think. 
> 
> Stay stafe, everyone and thanks for reading <3


	9. Kind And Bright

**Kind And Bright**

The deafening silence was interrupted by the squealing door opening once more. Jaskier’s stomach clenched at the mere thought of the disgusting food they would probably bring him, but he still looked to the door, eager to get a glimpse of the person bringing him the food, before the door would shut and he’d be left in darkness once again. 

But the door stayed open. Not much, but enough to let some light in, while a person entered the dark room. Jaskier’s eyes were fixed on what they were carrying. It wasn’t food. It was so much better, it was hope.  
He perked up, drawn to the small flame of the candle that the visitor held in one hand, dancing and allowing the barest glow to illuminate the features of the man holding the candle.  
It was Cahir. A hated face, but the first one Jaskier was able to see properly in who knew how long. 

Cahir’s walked at a slow pace, but unlike before it held less semblance to a predator and seemed more like he wanted to assure Jaskier he wasn’t a threat. A lie, of course.  
Jaskier watched tensely as the man set the candle on the floor, waited for him to blow it out, extinguishing the foolish flicker of hope sprouting in his chest.  
But the flame kept on burning. It wasn’t bright enough to blind him, but that also meant that it didn’t give enough light to reveal what Cahir was doing. There were footfalls, but Jaskier couldn’t tear away his focus from the light. 

Something touched his shoulder and Jaskier flinched away violently, holding up his useless hands to protect his face from any blows that might follow. Nothing came. Hesitantly he lowered his hands, but didn’t relax. 

With his senses slowly returning to him, he noticed that the thing lying over his shoulders was warm and soft. A blanket. But above the fabric were heavy hands resting on his shoulders. Hands that bad beaten him, cut him, smashed his lute. Hands he was now leaning into despite his mind yelling at him to get away as far as possible. 

The tension remained, the knowledge of who exactly it was that was touching him right now. But if he imagined it was someone else, strong hands belonging to a dear friend he hadn’t seen in far too long, the touch became bearable.  
No, it was more than that. Shame welled up in Jaskier, as he had to admit to himself that this was more than reluctant endurance, he was _relishing_ the feeling of another person being close to him, regardless of who that person was. 

A shiver ran through him that had nothing to do with Cahir standing behind him. Jaskier felt the man lifting his hands off of him to pull the blanket tighter around him. The chill didn’t stop.

“Shhh, it’s alright.” 

There was an undeniable edge to Cahir’s voice, the voice of someone who never had to comfort anyone in his life. But he was trying and to Jaskier’s affection-deprived heart the tone was so soft, so caring that he had to close his eyes to keep the tears of relief that gathered in them, from falling.  
Fingers, stiff as if unused to anything but violence ran through his too long hair. To Jaskier it was akin to the caress of a mother, a friend or lover. Someone who cared. Jaskier felt the tension leave his body with every seemingly tender stroke. 

“Do you want to go home?”

The question came unexpected and made his breath hitch. _Home_. He knew what Cahir meant. His cell. But damn, it was the closest thing he had to a home now. He was unaccustomed to thinking of a place as home. Home had always been people for him. And now Cahir was the only constant person in his life, the first real human contact he’d had in far too long.

He nodded, his “Yes” barely more than a breath. 

He imagined Cahir’s touch to be gentle, as he lifted him of the floor, carefully avoiding touching his aching hands. Jaskier had to squeeze his eyes shut when they left the room behind. The glaring brightness of the torches illuminating the way were too much for him after the pitch-black that had surrounded him for days.  
Risking careful glances every now and then, his eyes slowly adjusted to the light. 

They reached familiar stairs, heard the barely-there sound of the door opening and was finally back home, in the comforting familiarity of his former cell. The memories of pain and terror flashed through him, but this cell had windows, had a cot, walls that didn’t suffocate him with their vastness. 

Cahir guided him to the cot, where he sat down as automatically as he had followed Cahir on their way here. Cahir lowered himself next to him and adjusted the blanked around Jaskier once again, making a show of fussing over him. And Jakier savoured every second of it. Cahir began playing with the strands of Jaskier’s hair that had grown too long for his liking.  
But now, with someone else caressing them, he found himself wishing they’d be longer, just so he could have more of that feeling. While continuing his ministrations, Cahir spoke again. 

“Are you ready to talk now, my songbird?” The moniker that used to be a mockery now held the warmth of a pet name. “Or would you rather go back?”

The ice that gripped his heart supplanted the warmth of the endearment. No, he couldn’t go back into the silence, the damned loneliness of that room. He’d rather be cut and hurt again than having to suffer even an hour longer through the feeling of being alone, of having no one, of being abandoned. 

“No, please, don’t send me back!” Tears choked him as he pleaded.

“Do you believe you are deserving of staying here? Of my affection and care?”

Jaskier stumbled over his words in his haste to answer. “I will be! I promise, I’ll be good. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done!” 

The desperate words tumbled out of him. He didn’t know what he was saying anymore, only that Cahir had always wanted him to talk, so he did just that, hoping, _praying_ it would be enough for Cahir to keep him here. He apologized over and over again for everything, it won’t happen again. He begged; please don’t make him go back; He’ll be good, he’ll stop being annoying, he’ll be helpful, just _please_!

Cahir rewarded him with a smile. It was oh so obviously a mask, but for Jaskier it was the most beautiful sight: Forgiveness, a second chance!  
Attentively he watched as Cahir took something out of a pocket and held it out to him. It was an apple. He had played this cruel game before, but now, Cahir didn’t pull it back, didn’t taunt Jaskier with it.  
With shaking hands Jaskier reached out and tried to hold it, but it hurt, like hot iron stabbing at his flesh from the inside. He tried to repress the tremble in his hands and pressed his lips tightly together to stop the groan that was about to escape him.  
But Cahir took the fruit out of his hands with a patient “Let me.” 

For a moment Jaskier was confused, until he realised what Cahir was offering. Tentatively he took a bite out of the fruit the other man was holding. It was awkward and juices drippled drown his chin, but it was a peace-offering. 

He swallowed the bite and immediately his stomach began to rebel. Despite the wave of nausea hitting him, but he forced himself to take another bite, just to show Cahir his compliance and his appreciation. His eyes got wet from the effort to supress the urge to vomit.  
Apparently Cahir noticed or maybe he had just gotten impatient, but he set the apple down next to him. Jaksier let out a sigh of relief. He hoped for the now free hand to go back to stroking his hair, but to his disappointment, it stayed where it was in Cahir’s lap. 

“You know what I need of you. Tell me where the witcher is.”

Jaskier froze. Of course, this was what it was about. He hadn’t forgotten, but he had hoped so strongly that maybe the gentle touches hadn’t been all about getting answers out of him, but about _him_. More than anything, more than his freedom, he needed someone to just show him that he was worthy of affection. But it was impossible.  
To hell with it! If false caresses were all he was going to get, he would take it. Because right now, there was not a single person on the continent who cared about him, not Cahir and certainly not the witcher he was expected to betray. Doing that was not an option. But Jaskier was so desperate to keep someone close. He needed someone and right now, that someone could be Cahir. But how to keep Cahir’s approval without telling him where Geralt was?

“I... I don’t know what it’s called.” That was the truth. He did not have a single idea of where the witcher was.

Cahir straightened. “Do you know how to get to it?”

Jaskier’s fingers twitched involuntarily and send a spike of pain through him. “No, he had never taken me there.” 

Good. Keep talking around the truth. But Cahir didn’t seem satisfied with his half-answers. His lips pressed together into a thin line. 

“And here I was thinking you were going to be helpful. What a shame.” He made to stand up. 

Panic seized Jaskier. “No, wait! I’ll be helpful, I’ll tell you about the witcher!”

Cahir considered him for a moment before sitting back down and motioning for Jaskier to continue. Jaskier swallowed and made his decision. It was incredibly stupid and there was a high likelihood that it would end horribly, but he looked Cahir in the eyes and lied. He spun tales of travelling with the witcher, of being friends, of Geralt showing openly how much he cared about his bard. 

“You are right about him coming to get me. He often told me how much he loved having me around and how good I was for him. I always felt appreciated by him.” 

His own words cut him like knifes and yet he continued making up stories of getting the love he so craved but knew he didn’t have. Especially not from the White Wolf.  
As Cahir’s eyes grew hungry for more information and he resumed playing with Jaskier’s hair, it almost felt like he finally had the appreciation he claimed the witcher had for him. 

But it became too much. As Jaskier talked about being loved and the fingers kept stroking him, a horrible feeling settled in his stomach. He was lying to the one person who had shown him kindness in what felt like forever. He couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore. 

Instead he settled on studying his own hands that were now resting motionlessly in his lap as he talked. Looking at the damage made it easier to forget that the care Cahir exhibited was not real. He had the proof right in front of him, mocking him with the red skin and disgusting yellow substance leaking out of the cuts on his hands where the splinters of his beloved instrument had cut him. The sickly colour spread in streaks over his wrists, reaching out to encompass his forearms as well.  
For a moment the horrifying sight that he had been spared by the darkness before, distracted him. His voice faltered and he couldn’t help but voice his disgust. 

“That is the most disgusting wound I’ve ever seen.” 

Too late he realized the implications of his words. He froze, praying that Cahir had missed his slip up. But of course he hadn’t.

Jaskier’s head was yanked back as the soothing caresses stopped and Cahir gripped his hair painfully tight. He couldn’t see the Nilfgaardian’s face, but the snarl was audible as he spat out his next words.

“That’s the most disgusting thing you have seen? Despite taking care of a witcher, who let you stay by his side when he was wounded, showing his oh so endless love and trust in you?” 

Jaskier’s blood ran cold as the lies he had just told were thrown back at him. Only now he saw how utterly ridiculous and unbelievable they had been. No one could love him so completely and unconditionally as he had claimed Geralt did. 

“Oh, you lying piece of shit! He might have been attached to you, but had he trusted you even the slightest, he would have taken you with him. And yet here you are, continuing to risk your neck for him, desperate to be worthy of his love. But let me tell you, no matter what that mutant might think he feels for you, someone as pathetic and insignificant as you could never truly be worthy of anything like that.” 

Cahir rose, eyes hard as stone. It was like a punch in the gut.  
Jaskier tried to scramble to his feet, but landed hard on the floor, hands ablaze with agony when he broke his fall with them. He ignored the flaring pain and crawled to Cahir who walked across the room to abandon him again.  
Tears burned in Jaskier’s eyes. 

“Please don’t go! I am sorry, forgive me, I am sorry! I didn’t think. I won’t lie again, please don’t leave me alone again!”

But his apology fell on deaf ears. The door fell shut behind Cahir. Jaskier had had his chance at redemption and he had thrown it away.  
He rolled in on himself, stifling his sobs by pressing his face into his knees. He wouldn’t be forgiven, wouldn’t be cared for ever again and he didn’t deserve any better. 

**9 months after destroying their friendship**

A timid knock sounded on the door to Geralt’s room. Although it was the middle of the night, he wasn’t surprised. He had heard the creaking of the inn’s floorboards as the girl had walked up to his room. Geralt opened the door and let her in.  
Ciri stepped in and fiddled with her hands sheepishly. 

“Is everything alright?,” Geralt asked in a low voice.

It was a stupid question. Although it had been months ago, the girl had lost her family, had witnessed death and destruction as she fled from a city that had been going up in flames. Ever since Geralt had found his child of surprise in the woods, she had stayed in the same room as him every night, too frightened to stray from his side and facing the nightmares that would creep up at her alone.  
Geralt had watched over her and talked her back to sleep as best he could, when she had woken up screaming. But just as he hadn’t been able to protect her when Cintra had burned, he was unable to protect her from these dreams. 

He had been worried she would not be able to find her courage again, after she had been forced to be brave so cruelly. But about a week ago, Ciri had decided she was ready to be on her own during the night again. Geralt had felt pride swell inside him. She was learning to take back her life and she did in in her own time.  
Still, he had known that she would struggle and probably still seek him out sooner or later. 

So now she stood in front of him, looking so small and fragile, a scared look on her face. She shook her head to answer his question. Geralt gestured for her to sit on his bed, which she promptly did. He sat down next to her and gently lifted the blanket over her shoulders. 

He waited for her to speak first. It was a routine they had developed over the months they had spent with each other. He didn’t want to push her and he knew Ciri would find her own time to tell him of her troubles. She snuggled closer to him and stayed quiet for the longest time until she had calmed down enough to find her words. 

“Where is Jaskier?”

Geralt flinched involuntarily and drew in a sharp breath. He had not heard that name in months. Not since he had pushed him away and broken what they had had beyond repair. 

The question was so innocent, but it sent a surge of panic through Geralt. Where was Jaskier? He didn’t know. There had been a time when he would have known about every step Jaskier would take. He would be wherever Geralt was or tell him where he went, when their paths separated. But now, he could be anywhere. And Geralt had lost his privilege of having a right to know where.

His voice wasn’t as steady as he hoped for, when he finally answered. “It’s not important.”

It was though. It was one of the most important things, besides Ciri. It was the question that was constantly burning in the back of his mind. It was the thought that wouldn’t leave him alone when he layed awake at night, missing Jaskier’s familiar heartbeat next to him. 

Ciri took his hand in her small one and looked at him with an unknown urgency. “It is important!” 

Of course it was. And of course Ciri knew that Geralt wasn’t telling her everything. He never dismissed her. Not like he had dismissed Jaskier. 

Ciri ripped him out of his thoughts. “I know him. He used to visit Cintra sometimes.” Her voice quivered at the name of her lost home. “And he would play for me and tell me the most fantastical tales. He was my friend. And he told me he was your friend as well. So you have to know where he is. Why don’t you ever mention him?”

Because the thought of Jaskier alone made it hard to breathe. Sharp claws ripped at his heart and tore it to pieces as he had done to Jaskier’s.  
Jaskier had told Ciri they were friends. How long ago had that been? Jaskier had showed his affection so early on. But despite seeing Geralt as a friend and trusting him with his life, Jaskier had not once mentioned that he had met his child surprise. The achingly familiar regret took hold of Geralt. Jaskier had looked after Ciri long before Geralt had found the courage to yield to destiny.  
He lightly squeezed Ciri’s hand.

“He and I… we used to be friends. Those stories he told you, they probably all happened in some sense or another. We travelled together for decades. But- Ciri, I have made mistakes. Really bad mistakes I can’t undo. I have not been good to him.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I don’t know where he is. I hope he is somewhere out on the continent, singing and laughing with friends that don’t fail him.”

“But he isn’t! Or he won’t be. We have to find him or he’ll be in trouble.”

“He is always in trouble. But he can defend himself.” 

At least that is one thing Geralt had done right. Making sure Jaskier wasn’t defenceless should someone attack him. And now that Jaskier wasn’t associated with monsters and mutants anymore, why would anyone attack him anyway? The only danger he would face is cuckolded spouses and the heartbreak of someone insulting his songs.  
Still, Geralt should be there for him through it all. His fists clenched unwittingly at the thought of Jaskier getting hurt. 

Ciri suddenly jumped up and threw her hands in the air that was so reminiscent of Jaskier that Geralt gasped. 

“I had a _dream_ about him. Not a normal nightmare, one of the _really_ bad ones. I’m scared for him. If we don’t find him, something horrible will happen to him. We have to go looking for him. _Please_.”

She didn’t have to look at him this pleadingly, with her big green eyes. At the mention of Jaskier appearing in her _dreams_ , is heart had sped up and his muscles tensed as if he was readying himself for an attack. Without waiting for further explanation, he grabbed his few belongings from the floor, getting ready to leave.

“Tell me about that _dream_. Did you see what was happening to him?”

Ciri bit her lip. “I- no. I didn’t see anything. But I felt his pain. Geralt, there was so much pain and a voice… I recognized it. I had heard it before. It was the man with the feathered helmet that chased me out of Cintra. He was saying Jaskier’s name and he… he asked for you.”

He only interrupted his work to instruct Ciri to go back to her room and do the same. “Get dressed. We will ride as soon as the sun comes up.”

They didn’t have any trace to go off of. Geralt hadn’t heard from Jaskier in a long time. Who knew where he was? He wrecked his mind, trying to remember every place Jaskier had ever wanted to visit.  
The coast. He had wanted to go there for years. He had said the Siren he had been looked up with decades ago, had made it sound like a peaceful place, a safe-heaven.  
Back then, Jaskier had said he didn’t need one of those. But then he had asked Geralt on the Dragon hunt to go there with him. And Geralt had refused, hadn’t seen his words for what they were. 

The coast was the best lead they had, but the coast was wide and it was a long way from where they were to the sea. So they stopped in every village or city they came across, asking if someone had seen Jaskier. It couldn’t be that hard to find a trail of him like that. Jaskier left an impression wherever he went. His songs were famous after all. Someone must have heard about him, surely.

“ ‘Toss a coin’? I love that song,” the barmaid absentmindedly poured another tankard of beer and handed it to one of the patrons. “But it’s been a while since I heard it.”

“What about any of the other songs? ‘Fishmonger’s daughter’ or ‘Basilisk- giant cock?’,” Ciri, whose hair Geralt had chopped short some days ago, in hopes to keep her from being too recognizable, chimed in. The barmaid snorted with laughter and gave Geralt a half-hearted glare. “Are you sure your son is old enough to be hearing those kinds of songs?”

He glared back. “Have you heard any of his songs or not? He wanted to write one about a Dragon.”

She shook her head and went back to prepare more orders. “Sorry, I can’t help you. The bard hasn’t been here.” 

So they rode to the next town and the next. With every stop on their aimless travel, Geralt’s heart sank more. What if they were already too late? Or what if they still had time but were following a red herring by heading for the coast?

His patience had considerably thinned by the time of their next stop.  
During their search, it had become apparent quickly that either Jaskier had given up on being a bard or he had stopped singing any of his old songs. Geralt had cursed himself. Of course, Jaskier would not want to sing about him anymore. What reason would he have to sing about how heroic Geralt was, when he had been the one who had ripped out his heart as if it was nothing?

So he resorted to ask different questions. He made sure, Ciri was safe at the inn first though, before he roamed the streets. The barmaid from a few towns over had had a point. Geralt should try to keep Ciri sheltered from certain topics. 

He approached some women who were doing their chores and killing the time by gossiping. If anyone could answer his questions, it would be them. 

His question had been rather direct and the younger ones of the women started giggling, hiding their faces being their hands. A more mature looking one, rolled her eyes at them, before answering Geralt.

“No. There has not been a scandal like that in a while here. I am sure one of these girls here would know if a bard had been chased out of town because he slept with the wrong person. We do have a bard here. For a week he’s been playing every evening at the _Thirsty Griffin_ , but he has not fled in a hurry yet.” 

She snorted, as another girl, a really pretty one, picked up her thought. “I doubt he will. He is handsome, I am sure a lot of people would consider breaking wed-lock for him.” She exchanged what she must thought of as a secretive glance with one of her friends. “But he is as chaste as if he wanted to stay a virgin to have a chance at finding a unicorn. It’s certainly not for a lack of offers. He outright dismissed my advances! Can you believe it?”

No he couldn’t. The blond woman with the freckles and the mischievous smile would have never been rejected by the Jaskier he knew.  
Another piece of hope that they would find Jaskier shattered. He thanked the women for their troubles anyway and made his way back to the very inn in which the wrong bard would be playing tonight again.

He sat with Ciri in the pub-room of the inn, picking at his food. He had tried to put on a hopeful expression; he might not have found Jaskier here, but surely they would find him soon. He had felt bad lying to Ciri, but she had looked so lost when he had come back without any news of Jaskier yet again. His lie hadn’t done much to lift her spirits though. Despite her age, Ciri wasn’t naïve. Being chased and betrayed had remedied that.

A chord rang out through the air, the bard striking up a happy song. It was so utterly inappropriate to how Geralt felt that he looked up to shoot the bard that dared to disturb his brooding a glare. 

He froze. No, it couldn’t be. There, brightly dressed, smiling that damned charming smile and starting to sing a merry tune, was Jaskier. Geralt couldn’t avert his eyes, it was almost unreal. 

Jaskier looked like he always had. Safe and happy, like his old self.  
Geralt’s mouth went dry. He shrunk even more into the shadows, hoping that Jaskier wouldn’t spy him. Jaskier continued song after song and Geralt noticed that there were no winks being thrown around. Jaskier’s voice was loud and clear as ever, as if he had not a care in the world. 

Seeing him like this made Geralt’s heart ache for something he could have had, for something he _had_ had, for longer than he had ever deserved and that he now desperately wished he could get back somehow. 

Jaskier hadn’t noticed him yet. His smile hadn’t become frigid and uncaring yet at the sight of him. Geralt relished in watching his happiness, while he still could. 

He was so fixated on Jaskier that he didn’t notice Ciri making a small exited noise and getting up from their table, until it was too late. He half rose out of his seat to halt her, but she had already slipped away and skipped towards Jaskier. Jaskier’s smile widened as he watched the child twirl to his song, but his fingers didn’t falter. He ended it with a flourish and bowed to Ciri specifically. 

For a moment, icy fear spiked through Geralt’s blood. If Jaskier recognized and outed Ciri as royalty here in front of a full room of people who all had their eyes on them, it would destroy all the work, Geralt had put into making sure Ciri would go undetected. Her disguise as a boy, the rumours about her death he had helped spread,…  
But Jaskier laughed and ruffled through Ciri’s short hair. “You should come travel with me. Playing for a dancing audience is so much more fun!” 

Ciri giggled and battered his hand away. Geralt couldn’t be sure, from where he sat, but he thought, for a second a hint of confusion – or was it recognition? – flashed through Jaskier’s eyes. 

“I’ll think about it.” Ciri took his hand and tugged at it. “But first, you have to come with me. I want to show you someone.”

Fuck. _Fuck!_ Geralt was seized by panic. He couldn’t move as Jaskier came closer and closer to where he was, dragged along by a beaming Ciri. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t ready yet. 

Despite all the time he had spent apart from Jaskier, Geralt hadn’t been able to settle on the right words to say to him, should Jaskeir ever have the misfortune of having to face him again. 

All he could do was stare and have his heart broken anew, as Jaskier finally looked up from Ciri and met his eyes. He saw the smile freezing for a split-second, he saw the panic in Jaskier’s eyes and heard his heart speed up until it was beating wildly in his chest.  
But then, just as quickly, Jaskier’s smile returned, although it had lost all if its brightness and looked forced. It still was more than Geralt had expected or deserved. He drunk in that false smile as if it was water and he a man dying of thirst. He desperately needed to say something, but it felt as if his tongue was too heavy to speak. 

Ciri did it for him. With all the excitement only a thirteen-year-old could have, she gave him a radiating smile, let go of Jaskier’s hand and hugged Jaskier instead.  
For a moment, Geralt was afraid Jaskier would leave, as soon as he wasn’t bound by the child anymore. Jaskier probably thought about it, judging from the strange look on his face as he looked at Geralt as he was embraced by Ciri.

“I found him, Geralt! We finally found him!”

Jaskier let out a startled laugh. “Found me? What, you’ve been looking for me?”

His eyes were fixed on Geralt, disbelievingly and somehow broken. Like someone who got what they wanted, but a little too late. Geralt’s voice was still stuck in his throat. Once again, Ciri answered for him.

“Of course we have been looking for you! For weeks. Actually, we were just kind of passing through. We thought you’d be at the coast-“

“At the coast?,” Jaskier echoes, his voice suddenly sounding strangely choked. “Well, I was going to go there.”  
He was looking at Ciri, but Geralt felt, as if Jaskie was really talking to him. It was not like being addressed directly by Jaksier, but his insides fluttered at the realisation that Jaskier didn’t refuse to acknowledge him completely. Even though he would have had every right to.  
“But I didn’t want to go there right away. I… I thought of it as a last resort. I was going to go there, when I didn’t have anyone anymore. And well,” he huffed, mirthlessly, as if he was laughing about his own foolishness “for a while there, I had hoped you - nevermind that. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t go. I got stuck somewhere in-between. Doing what I do best. Travelling and playing on my own. And somewhere along the way I realized I don’t need the coast.”

He trailed off, as if he had said to much already but didn’t know how to remedy it. He shifted on his feet awkwardly.  
Finally, Geralt found his voice again.

“Jaskier,” The name tasted strange on his tongue after having avoided it for so long. “You’re alright.” 

It wasn’t what he had meant to say. But the sudden realization that Jaskier was truly here and unharmed washed over him like a wave. After searching for him, always facing the possibility that whatever threat loomed over him would attack before Geralt could reach him had made him forget what he was supposed to do once he did find him. 

Jaskier’s voice was chipper, when he said “Of course I am. What did you expect?” But his eyes told an entirely different story. He laughed curtly and rigidly. “Oh, I get it. You thought because my best friend kicked me to the curb and basically told me I was the worst thing that ever happened to him, I’d be devastated? That I’d not be playing in taverns for months because I’d be afraid, he’d find pathetic little me, if I did? That I’d take months to get back on my feet? HA! Ridiculous.”

It hurt. It hurt so much to hear the choked back tears in Jaskier’s voice.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier.” 

It wasn’t enough. It could never be enough. How could he put into words what he felt when there were no words big and meaningful enough? He had thought about what he wanted to say, every night as he had lain awake. But all words that had come even close to conveying what he needed Jaskier to know vanished, as he saw him here, playing and smiling and now blinking back tears. 

Jaskier’s false laughter died. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“Oh? Whatever are you sorry for?”

Witcher’s weren’t supposed to feel fear. But what other word could he use to describe the crippling cold seeping through his blood? He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to say it, not the way he was supposed to. That Jaskier wouldn’t accept his apology, because why would he? He had absolutely no reason to grant Geralt his forgiveness. He was afraid that he’d have to keep travelling with the silence that had taken up the place of Jaskier’s singing. So much of it was made out of Jaskier’s painfully obvious absence that even Ciri’s chatter couldn’t fill it.  
But most of all, he was afraid that Jaskier would forgive him, despite everything. That he would come back to him and Geralt wouldn’t know how to be enough for him, that Jaskier would get hurt again.

But Jaskier was still looking at him expectantly. No matter the outcome, Geralt owed him an apology. 

“I am sorry for what I said on the mountain. You were right, it wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t true either. You are not to blame for my decisions or… or destiny. And even before that, I shouldn’t have pushed you away and ignored you. I never showed you how much I-“ He faltered. Of all the horrible timings he could have chosen, this was undisputable the worst of all times to confess what he had almost let slip past his lips. He cleared his throat. “I should have showed you that you are appreciated. And I am sorry for all the times you got hurt because of me. _All_ of them.”

After he was finished, Jaskier contemplated him for a moment, as if wondering if Geralt was going to add something. 

“Alright.”

“Alright?” The spark of hope that Geralt had extinguished long ago, dared to flare up just the tiniest bit.

Jaskier nodded. “Yes, alright. I acknowledge your apology. It wasn’t a good one though and not nearly enough. But I acknowledged that you tried.” He gave him another tense smile and turned around to leave. 

Geralt’s heart sank. That foolish glimmer of hope died out. He wanted – needed - to say more! He couldn’t let him go, not now.  
Without thinking, he stood up and reached for Jaskier’s wrist, holding it gently. Jaskier would be able to pry away his hand easily if he wanted to. At the tiniest sign that Jaskier wanted him to let go, Geralt would. But Jaskier stiffened, breath hitching. He stared at the place where they were touching and that felt to Geralt like the skin there was burning. 

“I won’t do it again. I promise, I will be better.”

“Who says I will give you a chance to?” Jaskier’s hand shook, but he took it back firmly. He lifted his head and looked Geralt dead in the eye, making sure he truly understood. “You hurt me, Geralt. I don’t care about all the injuries from the monsters or all the times people kicked me out, only because it was you I was travelling with. _You_ really hurt me with what you said.”

“I know.” Geralt’s hand felt so empty without Jaskier’s warmth. He clenched it into a fist, but it didn’t help. 

“And I didn’t deserve it. I know I am not perfect, but I spent almost two decades following you around!”

“I know…” Oh, how he knew it. How he cursed himself for having appreciated their time together more. How he wished, it had been more. 

“And if you think I will let you push me around again, you are wrong!” 

As his heart shattered, a strange sense of pride overcame Geralt at seeing Jaskier stand up for himself, for putting himself above Geralt for once and telling him he knew his own worth. 

Geralt swallowed and said “You don’t have to forgive me. I am not here to force you back into a life that made you miserable.” Jaskier looked like he wanted to interrupt him, but Geralt quickly added “We just came to make sure you were safe.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Is it because chaos follows me and I am to be blames for every bad thing that ever happened?,” he said jokingly, but there was a certain bitterness in his tone. 

“It is because these are dangerous times. And my child told me you’d be in pain.” 

Something Geralt couldn’t name flashed across Jaskier’s face. He licked his lips and quickly looked from Geralt to Ciri, who had been standing aside, watching the exchange with quiet curiosity. Jaskier looked closer, before a smile lit up his face again and nearly took away Geralt’s breath. 

“Your child? So it really is you!,” he said, now addressing Ciri. “It has been years; how you’ve grown! You look so different.”

Ciri smiled at him impishly. “You don’t.” 

“Why thank you, you are too kind.” He turned back to Geralt. “You finally went looking for her.”

“I did. And she is a blessing.” One Jaskier made sure, he’d have. But as much as he wanted to see Jaskier happy and his heart swelled at the sight of him and Ciri smiling at each other, he couldn’t let himself get distracted from what he’d came here for. “She sometimes has these _dreams_. They are like visions. You were in one of them. She saw people asking you about me.”

Jaskier’s smile diminished slightly. “Yeah, that keeps happening. ‘Sing us a song about the witcher’ and ‘you are the witcher’s bard, aren’t you?’. As if I wasn’t good enough as only myself.” 

Geralt wasn’t sure if the last part had been meant for his ears. “We both know that’s not true. You are worth so much more. You didn’t get famous by singing about me. You gained your fame by being talented at what you are doing. If they don’t see it, then they are not worth listening to your songs.”  
Maybe it was just his imagination, but he could have sworn he saw Jaskier’s lips twitch a bit more upwards. But before Jaskier could say anything, Geralt continued.  
“But that is not what I’m talking about. She said you’d be in danger and that a Nilfgaardian knight would hurt you. I have heard the rumours about the Nilfgaardian army making their way across the continent. I couldn’t let her vision come to pass. Whether you want to travel with me if only to let me protect you or if you only take this warning is up to you. But fuck, I couldn’t let you get hurt again. Not if I am to blame. Not if I could do something to prevent it.”

Jaskier hesitated. “You shouldn’t use these kinds of words around her.”

“What?”

“You know, that one word you are so fond of saying? She shouldn’t know that word at her age. Someone should make sure you remember yourself. I’m not saying you’d be a bad father, but are you sure you can handle her on your own?,” he asked tentatively. 

No, definitely not. But he wasn’t sure if Jaskier was offering him something or if he was reading too much into it, with his stupid, foolish hope that just couldn’t seem to stay dead. 

“I will be able to, if I have to,” he said.

“Well, sure, but someone’s got to teach her the important things in life. And no offence, but I don’t think you should be the one to teach her how to sing and braid hair. I mean look at what you have done to her beautiful hair! Someone will have to fix that.” 

Jaskier shot him a look that dared him to disagree. Ciri giggled. 

“True, I am no use for those things.”

Jaskier tapped a finger to his chin in sarcastic pondering. “If only you knew someone who could do these things...”

Jaskier said it in the same moment that Geralt blurted out “Will you come with us?”

Jaskier truly smiled at him in what was the first time in what felt like forever. It wasn’t the fake or tense smile from before but a genuine, true smile that was so overwhelmingly _Jaskier_ that Geralt couldn’t help but smile at him in turn like he hadn’t in so long. 

“I would love travelling with you again. But just to be clear, what I said before still holds true. I will not let myself be treated as any less then I am worth.”

“What I said was true as well. If you allow me to, I will be better for you. And I will keep you safe, no matter what.”

Jaskier took his hand in his again. “Thank you, Geralt. And I forgive you.”

Geralt didn’t undertand it. He treasured these words, precious and unexpected as they were. But why did Jaskier say them? How could he forgive him so easily, when Geralt had done nothing to deserve this forgiveness? Whatever it was that had made Jaskier do it, Geralt promised himself that he would do everything he could to be worthy of Jaskier’s trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 1974 there was a woman who got kidnapped by the SLA (Symbionese Liberation Army) and locked into a dark closet for 57 days. When they let her out again, she was so disoriented that she joined the group of the people who had kidnapped and abused her. (My source might not be 100% realiable. It's a video of someone drunk explaining history. Here's the link if anyone is interested in watching it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N17n8yleZKY&list=PLD7nPL1U-R5pSwKIcVaIQrG5BnGMbHI5H&index=50)  
> Anyway, my point is that this is kind of what Cahir was going for, except he didn't have the patience to wait even close to 57 days with Jaskier in that dark room, so I figured Jaskier would still be touch-/ affection-starved, but not enough to joind forces with Cahir. 
> 
> Thank you for all of your support, it means so much to me <3


	10. Haunting You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is kind of a graphic description of an infected wound in this chapter. I don't know if that warrants a warning, but I personally thinks that that kind of stuff it pretty gross (I have looked at far too many reference pictures). 
> 
> Also you might have noticed by my grammar and other mistakes that I am not a native English-speaker. And I might have made some really dumb decisions in this chapter concerning tense. I kind of suck at conjugating verbs, even if that's easier in English than other languages. So be warned: There is a lot of (probably) incorrectly used past perfect (I think?) in this. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyway ;) 
> 
> And there is a very brief mention of a Garkain in this. The only thing I know about this monster comes from the title of a youtube video that says that Garkains are the "ugliest of vampires".

**Haunting You**

A sheen of sweat was covering his body, making his clothes stick to his skin. The pain in his head was swelling to a crescendo and his breathing has become shallow. He had crawled to the door, banged on it, calling for help and begging with a broken voice for someone to take him seriously.  
But all he had earned was a laugh through the door that remained stoically closed. 

“You have sunken truly low if you believe we would fall for the oldest trick in the book.”

It wasn’t a trick. Jaskier felt like his head was about to burst. It had been like this since shortly after Cahir had left, but it had taken him another day to get the courage to ask the Nilfgaardian soldiers for help. But it had all been for naught. 

So now he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall for lack of strength to hold him upright even when sitting down. He was staring at his hands that had taken on a repulsive purple-red colour by now. The cuts hadn’t healed, far from it: pus was leaking out of the open wounds. Jaskier had tried and failed to suppress the urge to vomit. The stench of his sick was filling the air and tempted Jaskier’s stomach to empty itself once again. 

“Help,” he whispered, unheard and unanswered. It took all of his remaining strength to make it back to the cot, before his legs gave out from under him and he collapsed onto it. Shivers shook his body as he wrapped himself up in the blanket that Cahir had thankfully left with him and that by now was drenched in sweat. His vision swam and he felt his mind slipping in and out of sleep.

There were eyes, beautiful golden eyes that gleamed like the rising sun. But sometimes there was a murderous glint in them, a furious stare directed at Jaskier, accompanied by a snarl and harsh words he didn’t understand.  
When he woke up, these eyes were all he could remember before drifting off again. The eyes he dreamed of most often and with them came images of blood and death. 

He could feel panic rise in him. He didn’t know if it was the fear of a faded memory or if it was caused by the feverish dreams. Swords. A man shouting for him to save himself and leave him to fight. That wasn’t right, he needed to help him! No. He needed to wake up. A girl with ashen hair. Who was she? She was so young, a child even. She shouldn’t live in dreams of pain and fury.  
He dreamed of singing. The storm of blood quieted down. The fear subsided and left infinite longing in its wake. Who was he yearning for? He missed the golden eyes. As much as they had frightened him before, their absence left a gaping hole inside of him. The hole was filled with a melody, a sweet lullaby. He could almost understand the words, but they too faded away before he could hold onto them. The song washed over him. A familiar tune, comforting, taking away all of the pain, the fear, the bad memories, the beautiful golden eyes he wished he could keep…

He awakened with a start. Someone was standing over him, visibly disgusted. 

“What is that awful smell?” 

Questions. Always with the questions he couldn’t answer. The black-clad man had come to ask him more of those damned questions. 

Jaskier saw his mouth move, but he couldn’t focus on what he was saying. There was another word echoing through his mind that demanded his entire attention. It was the most important word, but he didn’t understand why. 

“Geralt…” 

That was the word, rolling of his tongue weakly. It was a name. But whose name? It didn’t fit the man looking at him now. He had no memory of the face that belonged to this name. No, not a face. But eyes. Golden eyes. The eyes from his dreams. The eyes of a man whose face shifted into other faces. Golden eyes staring at him with the promise to kill him. 

He screamed. Couldn’t stop. The room jostled about. Someone was shaking him. Demanding attention that he was unable to give. Someone called for a guard. Demanded answers, but not from Jaskier. Not this time. He felt his arm being lifted and prodded at. He winced, trying to turn away, but in vain.  
He called out again, the name leaving his tongue as if it could protect him. 

The face of the man leaned over him again, looking eager. Why did he look so eager? Jaskier thought he heard the words “fever” and “loosens his tongue” but they didn’t make sense. A far as he could feel, he still had his tongue. He mumbled a few words to test it. The face above him grew frustrated. Good. He was frustrated too. There were more questions, but he had drifted off again. 

Something cold touched his forehead. Something wet. He was drowning! Jaskier gasped for air and flailed his arms in an attempt to get out of the water. 

“Be quiet! You are safe. We are taking care of you.” But this wasn’t the voice he needed to hear to feel safe. It wasn’t low. It was too rough and didn’t care enough. 

He opened his eyes a little. Someone lifted his head up and none too gently forced something liquid down his throat. He coughed. He was drowning again. A new voice entered, cold and impatient.

“I need him alive. Treat the infection but drag the fever out as long as you can. And note down anything he says in his sleep, every single detail.” 

He wanted to protest. He didn’t need saving, he already had someone who kept him safe. Someone who wouldn’t let any harm come to him. If only he knew who.

His hands were immersed into water. It was soothing and Jaskier felt himself sigh. A strange smell filled the air. Herbs? A salve? Something wrapped around his hands. It hurt. He couldn’t move his fingers. Fear. He cried out again for someone to come help him, someone important. But while his tongue found the name, his mind didn’t understand it. 

There were voices all around him, constricting him, filling his head. They didn’t make sense. None of those words made sense!

“Our songbird is finally singing.” A songbird. Was he a bird? Oh how wonderful it must be! But his wings were broken and bound. He would never fly again “… not the fever … lovesick...” Laughter. How rude. “…won’t see his love ever again.”

His love. That word. It was the only word that…sounded right? He didn’t understand its meaning, didn’t remember who they were referring too. Did he leave someone behind? But why would he do that when the word alone made his heart ache and long for... if only he knew for whom. 

His head pounded. His skin burned and he couldn’t remember. He _had_ to remember! His mind was weak. Too weak, almost broken. No, he mustn’t remember. It was important that he didn’t!

A swirling fog swallowed the voices around and inside of him. He fell back into a mercifully dreamless sleep, cradled by the hazy memory of a lullaby whose words he can’t quite make out.

**5 months into being friends again**

The threat of Nilfgaard hadn’t declined, in fact, the exact opposite was true. So Geralt, Jaskier and Ciri had to keep a low profile and move around a lot. It wasn’t easy. A witcher’s appearance was always accompanied by whispers and stares and it was in Jaskier’s nature to attract attention. It was hard, but they managed. 

Geralt only took smaller contracts, despite the bad payment and he could see how Jaskier held himself back as well, only singing his lesser-known songs. Geralt had been worried, it would not be good enough for Jaskier. He shouldn’t have to compromise like that, he shouldn’t have to stop doing what he loved.  
But Jaskier assured him time and time again that he wouldn’t have it any other way. Not in so many words, but with the way his eyes shone when he laughed at something Geralt had said or how he danced with Ciri with Geralt watching out of the corner of his eye, while pretending to be busy cleaning his swords. And Geralt too, couldn’t help but feel content. 

He watched Jaskier prance around the tavern they were currently staying in, singing an upbeat song. The bard caught his eye and winked at him. Had Geralt not had full control over his heart, he was sure it would have skipped a beat. Jaskier winking at him had not been unusual before, but after going so long without it, he doubted he would ever get used to it again.  
He gave Jaskier the barest hint of a smile that Jaskier answered with a beaming smile of his own, before turning back to the rest of his audience. 

Geralt was happy. He should be happy. He had everything that he wanted. Ciri was a gift he was thankful for every day and Jaskier was back to being his friend. Somehow they had mended what Geralt had thought irreparable. He had truly forgiven him. And what had started out as a tentative renewal of old jokes and getting back to being hesitant but comfortable around each other had quickly turned into them being friends again. His relationship with Jaskier was practically back to the way it had been before. 

And therein lay the problem. Geralt should be happy and thankful for what he had with Jaskier. And he was, he truly was, but he couldn’t help but yearn for more.  
But it seemed that Jaskier’s relationships with everyone were had gone back to how they were before as well. After restraining himself for a while, Jaskier had become tense. It hadn’t taken long, before Jaskeir was back to winking and flirting whenever they were passing through towns. 

Geralt couldn’t blame him for it. Jaskier thrived on love and touch and it was only understandable that he wouldn’t want that from him.  
Geralt had tried to show his affection more freely. Not enough to let Jaskier know of its true nature of course, but maybe enough to show him that he was appreciated. A touch on the shoulder. Plucking tiny specs of dirt or leaves out of Jaskier’s hair. An accidental brush of hands.  
But he had realized quickly that his touch was clearly unwanted and he had withdrawn into himself again. For both of their sakes, Geralt had pretended not to have noticed how Jaskier tensed each time Geralt had touched him, how he had held his breath until Geralt had pulled back again. It was only natural that Jaskier would be starved for another’s touch after all he had gotten was Geralt’s unwanted attempts. 

Geralt tried his best to be happy for him, whenever he found someone who would be able to give him that affection. But each time Jaskier left his side to walk up and charm another person, green- eyed jealously was threatening to suffocate him. He had no right to be jealous. It really shouldn’t have bothered Geralt the way it did. 

But his hands clenched as he now had to watch Jaskier lift a woman’s hand to his lip and press a gentle kiss on her knuckles. She blushed and leaned in to whisper something in his ear that Geralt thankfully wasn’t able to hear. He couldn’t hear Jaskier’s reply either, but he saw how his lark threw a look over his shoulder at Geralt that had the woman giggling. He left the woman’s side and returned to Geralt and slithered in next to him on the bench on the side that wasn’t occupied by Ciri. 

“What’s got you looking so grim?”

“That is just my face.”

“No, it’s not. This is your scary face.”

Geralt hummed. He had thought he had hidden the glare he had sent the woman better. 

Jaskier slapped his own thighs. “Well then, what a lovely talk, I should probably go back to lovely Rozalia.” He looked over to the woman who was observing them smugly. “She had some interesting ideas she wanted to share with me.”

“You shouldn’t keep doing that.” The words were out, before Geralt could stop himself. “Think of the child.” 

Jaskier leaned forward to look at Ciri who was preoccupied trying to steal some of Geralt’s ale. A girl after Jaskier’s own heart. Although he did shoot her a stern look that had her retract her hand sheepishly.

“Oh please, she doesn’t mind me having some harmless fun. Do you?” 

Yes, he very much did.  
He had no right to criticize Jaskier. He wasn’t his chaperone. And he had noticed that Jaskier’s amorous adventures nowadays rarely went further than sweet-talking and stealing kisses. Most nights he spent in their shared room. It was already more of a sacrifice than Geralt would have expected from Jaskier. But the occasional nights that Jaskier did leave, Geralt spend lying awake, tossing and turning and unable to get the image of Jaskier in someone else’s arms out of his mind. 

“It doesn’t matter if it bothers me or not,” Geralt muttered. Jaskier looked at him like he wanted to protest. “But we can’t risk getting our cover blown.”

Jaskier grew rigid suddenly. “Oh, yes… our cover.”

Jaskier looked slightly uncomfortable and indecisive, before sliding closer to Geralt until their thighs were touching and laid an arm around his shoulders. 

A pleasant but of so painful tickling sensation spread through Geralt from where he was touching Jaskier. He cursed every decision that had let them down this path. The damned cover was going to be the death of him.  
They had just come up with it last night and already he was regretting it deeply. Well, hadn’t exactly been a conscious decision. It had been more thrown upon them. 

Just like every time they had come to a new town, they had paid for two rooms. One for Ciri and a shared room for Jaskier and him. They didn’t have enough money to rent a two-bed room though. It hadn’t been unusual for them. Even before travelling with Ciri, they had shared beds on multiple occasions. Not that made it any easier to get any rest, when Geralt knew that Jaskier was so close that he would just have to reach over to take him in his arms; although he never would. 

Before retreating to bed the day before, they had ordered some food that Geralt and Ciri had eaten their share of, while Jaskier had been entertaining the other patrons. Or rather, Geralt had meant to eat. But he had been too transfixed on Jaskier’s slow love song.  
He had made a point of not looking at his lark, as the song had washed over him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jaskier glancing at him every once in a while, but he had looked stoically forwards. Still, he couldn’t escape of the blue eyes on him. 

Ciri had leaned her head against his shoulder and hummed to the tune. Geralt had heard footsteps come closer to them and instinctively laid an arm around Ciri protectively.  
But his tension had been unfounded. The footsteps had belonged to an older woman with already greying hair who had looked at Ciri with fondness. 

“Hello there, sweetheart. Would you like some warm drink or something to eat?” At the sight of Geralt’s tensing muscles, she had held her hands up soothingly. “Don’t worry lad, I wouldn’t do something bad to the drink. I prepared all of your food, after all. I’m working in the kitchen, me. But it’s my break and the youngling looked like they were still hungry.”

It had been true. Ciri had not been eating enough, but with Geralt trying not to draw attention to him being a witcher, they had had to rely on Jaskier to pay for their meals and rooms. And judging from the people’s reaction to his lesser known songs, they wouldn’t be throwing much coin. 

“We can’t pay for more,” Geralt had admitted in a low voice.

The woman had looked at him in understanding. “It is fine. It is on the house. Because of your husband’s singing.” 

Geralt had sputtered and willed his heart to stop beating so painfully. “My husband?”

She had patted his hand and leaned in conspiratorial. “Don’t worry, no one in here is going to say something rude to you. This place belongs to me and my wife Malinda and everyone knows that they are going to be in trouble with us, if they make any comment of that sort.” 

She had sighed and looked back at Jaskier, who had finished up his performance, collected is coin and was now walking up to him. 

“It is not rare in these trying times to have a poor family under our roof. But it is nice to see two people so in love with each other despite everything. It gives me hope for the next generation.” She looked at Ciri. “You are truly lucky to have two fathers like that, sweetheart.”

Geralt had wanted to correct her, to tell her that it wasn’t true. He and Jaskier weren’t together and never would be. But the thought alone had been enough to wrench painfully at his chest and made it impossible to speak.  
He had shot a look at Jaskier, praying that he hadn’t heard the comment. As much as Geralt knew she had misunderstood the situation, he couldn’t bear to hear those words out of Jaskier’s mouth.

But Jaskier had only smiled at Geralt and like the performer that he was, he had said “And I couldn’t be happier to have my beloved and our child as well.” 

“And I have to say it is beautiful to watch how you sing for your husband.” She had winked at Jaskier mischievously. “You can’t fool these old eyes, you might pretend to play for the audience, but I know who you were truly singing for.”

Jaskier had at least had the decency to let a faint blush rise in his cheeks as he raked a hand through his hair nervously. “What can I say, I have been serenading my beloved for years, but I am afraid, he wasn’t quite as charmed by my singing as I had hoped.”

It had felt so unreal to hear Jaskier twist the truth like this. Though the idea that Jaskier’s songs about him weren’t just a means to an end, but the bard’s own way to court him, had sent a pleasant shiver up his spine.  
But it was preposterous, of course. Geralt had seen Jaskeir serenade people. He didn’t waste years and multiple songs on one person he wanted to charm. When he courted someone, he sang them one song. It was all it took. 

“Nonsense! Look at him, the lad didn’t even eat up, he was so charmed by you.” 

Jaskier had let out a laugh. “Either that or my song churned my husband’s stomach and made it impossible to eat.” 

Geralt had scowled at him, but without any heart behind it. “Actually, I have been saving it for you. Dancing around like this must be exhausting after a while. You need it more than me, my little lark.”

Fuck. How had he been so stupid to let that slip? It must have been the picture Jaskier had painted with his words. The image of them together, of him being Jaskier’s beloved. He had gotten so swept up in the lies Jaskier had spun for whatever reason that he had become careless.  
He had prayed that Jaskier hadn’t noticed or if he had that he would take it as Geralt just playing along to whatever game he was playing. 

“Little lark?,” the old lady’s eyes had shone. “That is such a sweet pet-name.”

Jaskier had stared at Geralt with an unreadable expression. “Yes, yes it really is. I like it.” 

A call from where the pub-room let to the kitchens had made the old woman perk up. “Ahh, duty calls. It was wonderful meeting you. I wish all the best for your lovely family. May Melitele watch over you and may you meet many kind strangers along your way.” 

Even thinking about it now, made guilt creep up on Geralt for lying to this woman whose day had been brightened by so simple things as seeing a supposedly happy family. But there had been no real harm in Jaskier lying and going along with it. 

In fact, it gave them a good cover. A bard and a witcher travelling with a child was bound to attract attention sooner or later. But if they kept this lie up, they could pretend to just be a poor family fleeing from the impending war and struggling after having to leave their jobs and old life behind, as did so many other families. It wasn’t unusual and no one would bet an eye at them. They might just meet the kind strangers that the lady had talked about, willing to help a family. 

Technically, it wasn’t even fully a lie. Except for the small part where Jaskier and Geralt were incredibly in love with each other and also married. 

And it was that small detail that had Geralt’s breath get stuck in his throat now, as he sat in between Jaskier and Ciri with Jaskier’s arm thrown awkwardly around him. It was a light touch, but he felt Jaskier’s thumb trace random patterns on his arm as if they were burning into his skin. He did his best to look as if that touch wasn’t unnatural to him, but he doubted he was very convincing. 

The evening seemed to stretch on forever, until finally, Ciri couldn’t supress her yawns anymore and Geralt took it as an excuse to take her upstairs to her room. 

He tucked her to bed and gently brushed over her hair. “Sleep well.”

“Wait.”

He halted. 

“Why did you look so uncomfortable when Jaskier had his arm around you? You did the same to me and you are alright with that.”

Geralt sighed and sat on the edge of her bed. “It’s because with you I know that you welcome my touch.”

“Of course I do! But so does Jaskier.”

“Here’s the thing. He is a good actor if he wants to be. I’m not saying he’s a liar, just that he knows well how to disguise his feelings if he has to.”

“And you don’t like it when he touches you?” The question was so innocent, so unassuming and confused that Geralt couldn’t help but smile at Ciri. 

“I do. But I don’t like it when he doesn’t mean it. He shouldn’t have to do it, if he doesn’t really want it.” 

“But…” Ciri broke off. “Maybe he does like it.”

Geralt doubted it. He had felt how rigid the arm on his shoulder had been, how tense Jaskier had been from restraining himself from moving away from him. 

“Yes.” He knew he was fooling no one. “maybe he does.” He kissed Ciri on the forehead. “Now sleep well.” 

“Good-night. And I really am lucky to have you two.”

“So am I.”

He closed her door quietly behind him and went back to Jaskier’s and his shared room.  
Jaskier was already waiting for him, wringing his hands nervously. Geralt’s steps faltered. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected Jaskier to come to bed so soon as well. He would have thought, Jaskier would take Geralt’s absence as a chance to at least flirt a bit more with the woman he had made eyes with downstairs. 

But once Geralt had reminded him of it, Jaskier must have really committed to the appearance of their ruse. Of course he would follow his husband upstairs and take advantage of being alone with him for the night while their child was sleeping. Geralt swallowed at the thought and went over to the chest where he had put his bed clothes, if only so he had an excuse to not look at Jaskier. 

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier blurted it out as if he had been keeping it inside for a while now. “For touching you. I know you are not overly fond of that.”

Geralt froze and turned his head slightly to look back at Jaskier. He looked miserable. “It’s fine. You have held my hand before. I have gotten used to it.”  
Somehow it felt, as if the words hadn’t come out exactly the way Geralt had meant them to, but he didn’t know how to fix it. 

“Right. Yeah, right.” Jaskier nodded his head a bit exaggeratedly and did that thing with his tongue he usually made when he was thinking. “So, uhm. I’ve been thinking… we are leaving tomorrow, so we don’t have to keep up this charade.” Geralt hummed. Jaskier made a movement as if he wanted to come closer, but decided against it at the last moment. “But what if we didn’t? I mean, we leave, of course, but what if we didn’t drop the act?” 

Geralt finally turned around fully. Jaskier couldn’t honestly be suggesting this. But Jaskier looked sincere, when he rushed to explain himself.  
“I’m just saying, it had worked today. Someone usually recognizes at least one of us, my bad. But maybe people won’t bat an eye when we are just a couple with their child seeking refuge. It might be safer. It’s not perfect, but we could try. At least until we find a better way to keep Ciri safe.” He had spoken quickly, almost slurring his words together in his hurry to get them out. “I mean, only if you would want that, of course.” 

Would he want that? Jaskier fawning over him, looking at him as if he meant the world to him? Yes, he craved it almost.  
But would it be worth the cost of knowing it was all an act? To hell with it, yes it was. 

Before he could open his mouth, Jaskier added quickly, as if to defend himself. “It wouldn’t mean anything, of course. _We_ would still know that it’s a lie. But it’s a good lie.”

Geralt couldn’t supress the snort. “Is it though? I am surprised anyone bought it off us today. It’s about as believable as saying you would fall in love with a Garkain.” 

Jaskier flinched back at his words. “Do you truly think us being together would be so far-fetched?”

Geralt laughed bitterly. “Definitely.”

Of course it was. There was no conceivable reason for the upbeat bard to fall for a broody witcher like him. Jaskier was far too good for him. Everyone could see it. Wherever they went, Jaskier was adored, beloved by everyone. Geralt on the other hand received scorn and averted ayes. How could anyone in their right mind believe Jaskier would choose someone him? 

“Jaskier, as soon as people start to think a bit, they will realize how ridiculous this is. Why on earth would anyone - let alone you - want to be with someone like me and even want to raise a child with me?” 

Saying those words out loud was even worse than thinking them. It made them more real. Push that knife even further, why don’t you? 

Jaskier stared at him, mouth agape. “ _That_ ’s your argument? That you are unlovable?” He let out a disbelieving laugh. “’Why would anyone fall for you?’ Maybe because you are one of the bravest men on the continent. You protect people and you care so much, even if you won’t admit it. You are surprisingly funny and gentle if you want to be. How could people _not_ fall in love with you?” 

But it still wasn’t enough for Jaskier to love him, now was it? 

“Alright then,” Geralt said, ignoring the pain in his chest that got worse with every word. “If you are so adamant about doing this. You are right. I still think it’s stupid, but it might just work for a while.”

Jaskier beamed at him, but his smile fell and he became serious. “So what I did today and yesterday, was that alright? Please tell me should I ever do something you don’t want me to. We can keep the touching to a minimum, if you want to.”

“It’s fine. Do whatever you believe you would be doing if I truly were your husband. We are doing this for Ciri, after all.” And he would take what he could get, even if it all was just a lie. “What about you? Do you have boundaries?”

Geralt was thankful when Jaskier actually did take his time to think about it and not just blindly agreed on anything. Not that Geralt would be showing his affection physically even half as much as Jaskier would, but he still wanted to be sure. 

“No, I think I am fine with everything. But I will tell you, if anything changes. That’s a rule, alright? No matter what we say now, we can always change our minds later if we realize we are not comfortable with anything.”

“Of course. That’s a given.”

Jaskier grinned at him mischievously. “Well then. We better go to bed now. We wouldn’t want to be too tired to act properly tomorrow.” 

Geralt wasn’t worried about Jaskier not being able to pull off his role. Acting was a bad trade-off for playing his popular songs, but it was a performance nonetheless and that was something Jaskier loved and was good at beyond anything. It was obvious that Jaskier would give his all and throw himself into the role enthusiastically. 

It hadn’t taken Geralt a day to realize that ‘taking on the role’ apparently required Jaskier to torture him.  
Every lingering touch on his forearm, every wink, every goddamn time these beautiful blue eyes softened even more when they fell on him, made him feel like he had been gifted the most precious and yet fragile jewel on the continent, only to hold it up into the light and see that it was only a cheap imitation. 

But at least it seemed to work. Days, he spent holding hands with Jaskier turned into weeks and barely anyone looked at them twice. It was as if it was the most natural thing in the world to see them together. 

Ciri obviously agreed with that sentiment. Geralt only hoped she remembered that none of this was real and would all be over soon.  
He caught her smiling behind her hand and squeal a bit, whenever she saw him brush his fingers through Jaskier’s hair absentmindedly or when Jaskier would completely unprompted lift Geralt’s hand to his lips and press a chaste kiss against it. 

The first time he had done that, Geralt had been stunned and asked Jaskier why he had done it. Jaskier had smiled and said “Because I love you, of course.” 

Geralt’s throat had restricted. He hadn’t been able to breath. Saying these sweet, longed for words to him so easily, as if they didn’t mean the world, as if they were true was cruel. Geralt would have preferred it if Jaskier had come at him with a knife. 

That night, when they had retired to their room, Geralt had set a new boundary. 

“Please don’t say these words to me ever again. Please.”

A shadow had crossed over Jaskier. “I am so sorry. I didn’t realize it would be that bad. It won’t happen again.” 

He stayed true to his word. But the kisses on his hands continued and every time his lips brushed against Geralt’s skin and he met Jaskier’s eyes, the memory of the words came back with a force he couldn’t fight.  
And sometimes there was this traitorous voice in the back of his mind, telling him that Geralt should say the words that he had forbidden Jaskier from using back.  
If only Jaskier hadn’t said them as part of an act. 

He had to remember that Jaskier was a performer. He was a flirt. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was act like a lover. He was so good at it he had everyone around them convinced. He almost had Geralt fooled as well.  
And it hurt so much, all these false promises and caresses that he didn’t mean.

But at least Geralt was spared the pain of having to watch Jaskier flirt with others now. It was a mild comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. 

He noticed a difference though, in the way Jaskeir flirted with him. With others he had always been flamboyant, charming and self-assured. All of that still held true in the way he acted now, but there was also a hesitance to it. A brief pause, before he would touch Geralt, asking him silently for permission and giving him the chance to evade his touch.  
As if Geralt would ever do that. He welcomed every single one of them and hoped for more, each time. 

Despite Jaskier’s claim that for him there was no line that shouldn’t be crossed, Geralt knew that there was one. No matter how often Jaskier leaned in for a quick peck on the cheek or kiss his hands, he never once met Geralt’s lips with his. Geralt saw this as what it was. That was where Jaskier drew the line between real and pretend and even if Jaskier never said anything, Geralt would not dare to take that line away from him, even if for him it was as real as it could get. 

He found himself wishing so desperately that this wasn’t just a ruse, that maybe Jaskier enjoyed leaning against Geralt the way he now did whenever he got tired and that those longing glances Jaskier shot his way were actually real. 

But no matter how much Geralt relished his touches, whenever they went back to their room or left a town, they would stop abruptly. Held hands were drawn back and left a hollow feeling, whenever they were behind closed doors and Jaskier allowed himself to drop the mask.

They had carried on like this for a month already. Geralt had no idea how he had managed to stay sane. At least now they were on the road again with a low chance of meeting anyone and no need to pretend. 

But the reason for that was less delightful. After arriving in a new village only yesterday, word had gotten around of Nilfgaardians who had been spotted close to the village. They hadn’t needed to discuss what they would do next. Within half an hour they had packed up their belongings and left the village, without having had time to eat or take a rest from the journey that had just been over. But they couldn’t risk getting discovered for something minor like rest. 

They had been walking for hours by now. Or rather, Jaskier and him had been walking. Ciri was sleeping on Roache’s back, with Geralt guiding the mare with her reins.  
Geralt glanced at Jaskier who was walking next to him. He looked like he was about to fall over from exhaustion as well. Geralt halted Roach.

“We are going to take a break here.”

Jaskier looked at him uncertainly. “Are we safe here? We can go for a little more, just to be sure they won’t find us.”

“No,” Geralt said sternly. “You need to rest. We have to set up camp somewhere and here is as good a place as any.”

He didn’t say out loud that he shared Jaskier’s concerns, but he was sure Jaskier knew it anyway. They had been forced to leave that abruptly before, but their flights had become more frequent recently. They both knew that it would only be a matter of time until there would be no safe place for them anywhere anymore. 

Jaskier let himself fall on the grass next to the dusty road and rested his elbows on his knees before burying his head in his hands. Guilt overcame Geralt as he looked at him. 

Jaskier rarely showed it, but life like this must be hard for him. Not being able to play as much music as he would have wanted, not having enough coin to eat properly most days and on top of that having to pretend to be in love with Geralt while also forsaking any real lovers he could have. But Jaskier never complained. 

Gently, Geralt lifted Ciri off of Roach and laid her onto the grass, mindful not to wake her.  
Jaskier shrugged his by now worn out doublet off and folded it into a pillow for her. Ciri snuggled into it and smiled in her sleep. She looked so innocent and tiny like this. She didn’t deserve having to run and fear for her life. 

Geralt turned to go to Roach and get their basic supplies to set up camp, but Jaskier’s hand around his stopped him. 

“Don’t. You should rest too, dearest. You’ve been on the road just as much as we have and I know that you’ve been eating even less.” He let go of him and patted the ground next to him. 

Geralt didn’t need to be invited twice. It was no use pretending to be fine with Jaskier. He would see through the lie anyway. So he sat down next to him. 

The cold of the ground seeped through his clothes. They wouldn’t be able to camp outside for much longer. Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder.  
Had Geralt not become so used to these kind of gestures over the past weeks, he would have stiffened. But as it was he leaned his head atop of Jaksier’s. They had done this so often now, but an all too familiar warmth blossomed in Geralt’s chest. This was the first time they had done so without having an audience around to fool. 

“Thank you, Jaskier,” he murmured and felt the vibration of Jaskier’s answering hum. “For coming back. I know this isn’t easy, but I promise I will try to do everything to make it bearable. You certainly make it easier for me, just by being here. Thank you.”

There came no answer and for a brief second, Geralt feared he had said too much and destroyed the moment. But when Jaskier didn’t react at all, he lifted his head slightly and risked a look at his face. Jaskier’s eyes were closed and his chest was raising in deep, steady breaths. He was asleep. Geralt hesitated, but then quickly placed a kiss in Jaskier’s hair. 

His eyes threatened to drift shut as well, lulled by the calming sound of Jaskier’s and Ciri’s breathing, but he forced himself to stay vigilant. He would never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to them because he had not been able to withstand the beckon of sleep.

It hadn’t even been an hour, when he heard a strange yet vaguely familiar noise. Not a great distance away, the air glistened and grass and smaller rocks were picked up from the floor, creating a circle in the air. 

Geralt tensed and readied himself to unsheathe his sword. But the figure that stepped out of the portal was not an unknown attacker. It was Yennefer. Her face was closed off as she hurried towards them.  
Geralt thought of the last time they had spoken and winced. Jaskier made a complaining noise in his sleep and pressed his head firmer against Geralt’s shoulder. 

Yennefer came to a halt and took in the scene in front of her in disbelief. “I didn’t believe it. When I heard about it, I thought it must be a bad joke, but here you are. Snuggling up to the bard and with a child.” 

The snuggling was over though, when her voice wakened Jaskier. He lifted his head and mumbled something indistinguishable. He stopped short, when his eyes landed on the sorceress standing in front of him. He scrambled away from Geralt, which earned him a raised brow from Yennefer and sent a pang through Geralt’s chest. 

Geralt stood up. “Yennefer. I did not expect to see you here.”

“We never expect to see each other, do we? But it’s not a coincidence this time. Actually, I have found a way to undo your wish.” There was ice in her eyes, but it melted, when her eyes fell on the still sleeping Ciri. “I am here because of her.”

Jaskier stood in front of the girl protectively, blocking her from Yennefer’s view.  
“Stay away from her.”

Yen tilted her head. “And you think _you_ could hinder me? But don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt her. I’m also not here, because I forgive you for what you have done, Geralt. But there are rumours. About a white-haired witcher and his lover, the bard that are travelling with a child. The lion cub of Cintra.”

Geralt cursed. They had tried so hard to make people forget who they were. 

Jaskier remained calm though, or at least he kept up the appearance of it. “What of it? I didn’t know being a sorceress meant following the latest gossip.”

“If by ‘gossip’ you mean following political intrigues that could change the outcome of a war, then yes, that is exactly what sorceresses do. This ‘gossip’ about you has reached the Nilfgaardian army, if one can believe what is being said. And they are looking for this child.”

Geralt tensed. “We know. We have been trying to get away from them, but they are getting closer.”

Yennefer nodded grimly and then thrust her hand forward. A gust of wind drove Geralt’s hair in his face, as another portal appeared. “I can get you away from here faster than walking.” 

Relief flooded through Geralt. “Thank you Yennefer.”

“I’m not doing this for you. I only want to protect the child.” 

Jaskier interjected. “I’m sorry, are we not going to talk about this? Are we really just going to go through a portal to who knows where that _Yennefer_ made?”

Geralt was about to answer, when a quiet voice caught their attention.

“You are Yennefer!” Ciri blinked up at her, eyes shining. 

Yennefer looked at Geralt, looking almost touched. “You told her about me?”

“Ciri sometimes has those _dreams_. She hears voices and sees things that haven’t happened yet. And in one of those visions she saw you.”

Jaskier snorted. “So you’re the only one here who Ciri hasn’t dreamed about, Geralt?”

The thought came unbidden and it was entirely inconsequential, but with a start Geralt realized that this was the first time since they had started their pretence that Jaskier had called him by his name, instead of an endearment. 

Thankfully, Yennefer’s priorities were still in order. “She has visions? Since when?”

“I’ve had them since I had to leave my home,” Ciri said in a small voice when Geralt didn’t answer.

Yennefer crouched down to be on eye-level with Ciri. “Are they getting worse?” Ciri looked quickly at Geralt and then back at Yennefer. She nodded almost unnoticeably. Geralt’s heart sank. Why hadn’t she told him? 

Yennefer smiled at Ciri. “Don’t worry. I will help you figure this out. I know magic, I can try to teach you how to control the chaos within you.” 

Everyone was shocked, when Ciri threw her arms around Yennefer, but no one more so than the sorceress herself. She froze for a moment, before lifting her arms and returning the child’s embrace. 

When the girl finally loosened her arms around the woman and took Geralt’s hand in her own, the tension that had crackled between the adults had disappeared. 

Jaskier cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, I guess that means I am outvoted. Into the demon-portal it is.” 

Geralt nodded and watched as Jaskier started on the chore that was trying to get Roach through the portal. Ciri squeezed Geralt’s hand and went to help him, pulling Roache’s reins as Jaskier tried to coax the horse to move with encouraging words and the promise of sugar cubes. Geralt smiled at the sight. 

Yennefer studied his face intently. “Congratulations on that. I didn’t think, you’d get your shit together.” 

Geralt turned his focus back on her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“The bard. You know when I heard that you were with him, I thought the rumours must have been false. I don’t think he knows, but have seen Jaskier on the day of our fight when he made his way down the mountain. It seemed I wasn’t the only one that left that mountain top broken-hearted. Don’t take the forgiveness he has gifted you for granted.”

“I don’t. But Yen, we aren’t together. It was a stupid ruse we kept up because we hoped, people wouldn’t notice us like that. A whole lot of good that did.” 

“Oh. I see.” Yennefer actually looked sorry for him. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

Geralt huffed bitterly. “Of course not. Like you said he was gracious enough to forgive me. I am not going to drive him away again, because of some unrequited feelings.”

“So you do finally admit it. I had been wondering how long it would take you. But just so you know: the bard cuddling with you in his sleep, didn’t seem fake to me.” 

The smile she gave him almost looked like it had back then, when things had been alright between them. Geralt wondered, if maybe there was a chance, they could go back to being friends again. 

He ignored her comment, lest it made that stupid hope flare up again. Instead he looked back at Ciri, who had somehow managed to get Roach even further away from the portal then before. 

“It’ll be nice for her to have a woman to talk to. Jaskier and I are doing our best, but I think, she could do well with a mother-figure.”

There were no tears in Yennefer’s eyes. Of course not, she would never cry in front of Geralt. But her eyes shone with the realization that maybe she now had the chance to get her wish after all. 

They both looked on as Jaskier and Ciri groaned in combined effort to push Roach.

“He doesn’t give up, does he?,” Yennefer mused with an amused smile. 

“He followed me around for decades before realizing he had had enough. And even then he came back. I don’t think he will let himself be bested by Roach.”

“Although we both know Roach will prevail against whatever it is he is doing right now.”

“Naturally.” He couldn’t keep the fond tone out of his voice. 

Yen shot him a sidelong glance. “How long are you going to keep up this pretence?”

He wasn’t sure whether she meant the pretence of not loving Jaskier or the one of being with him. Either way his answer was the same.

“For as long as I have to.”

For as long as he would be able to not break under the longing that never would be fulfilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not believe that two men can't raise a child on their own!! They 100% can.  
> I only said that Ciri needs a mother-figure, because that is what Yennefer is to her in the books and games as far as I know and I am not going to take that away from Yen.


	11. I Will Remain With You

**I Will Remain With You**

Jaskier’s lips were cracked and his throat dry as if he had been screaming. Had he been screaming? He couldn’t remember. His thoughts were not as foggy as before, but his head remained heavy. He opened his eyes and looked around, trying to push himself up. He didn’t get far. 

“Shhhh, don’t move, you’re not strong enough yet.” The voice was surprisingly gentle, as were the hands that applied the barest pressure on his chest to push him back down again. 

He cringed away. Touch was bad, was treacherous. He couldn’t trust the kindness of it as he had with Cahir’s caresses. 

The hands disappeared and the person the hands belonged to backed away quickly. Trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart, he looked closer at them. It was a girl, no, a woman. Her blonde hair was braided back to keep them from falling into her light brown eyes. 

Jaskier quickly scanned the cell. She was the only person here. But he could have sworn that there had been others. Hadn’t he heard different voices before, yelling and mocking him? Or had they only been fabrications of his dreams?

The woman must have guessed his thoughts, for she huffed and said “I sent these brutes away. They have no concept of how to properly take care of a patient.”

“You sent them away?”

A smug smile appeared on her face. “The advantages of being a healer. They know they wouldn’t last a single battle without my help, so when I tell them to go away and let me do my job, they do as I say.”

Jaskier didn’t respond. She didn’t seem bothered by it. It was no wonder. She had to regularly deal with Nilfgaardian soldiers after all. Jaskier would have been surprised if his silence had been any worse than what she probably had to go through when treating them.

“I need to take another look at your hands and I have to touch you again for that. May I?”

“Yes.”

No. He doesn’t want to be touched. He thought of the rough hands forcing him down when he was thrashing about in his fever. But this healer just stared at him patiently as he held his hands up for her to inspect, gritting his teeth to keep himself from flinching. 

She unwrapped the bandages gently and scrutinized his hands, prodding carefully. They still hurt, but not nearly as badly as they had before. Jaskier risked a look. The redness of his skin had receded and the swelling was almost completely gone. He watched as a cooling salve was applied. Involuntarily, he let out a sigh, as the hurt slowly ebbed away.

While she was working, the healer continued the stagnant conversation.  
“My name is Eligia, in case you were wondering.”

He hadn’t been wondering. It felt strange knowing her name. Up until now, the Nilfgaardians had all been faceless soldiers. After that first day, he had stopped trying to remember what each one looked like. Cahir was the only one who wasn’t just an unknown soldier to Jaskier. But his name was more than just what he was called. For Jaskier, it was a symbol of fear and pain. The name of the enemy. 

As before, Eligia wasn’t discouraged by his silence.  
“I have heard of you, of course, but I usually like to know who I my patient is out of their own mouth. So?” 

He hesitated. “Jaskier.” 

He received a bright smile from the healer. “Well then, Jaskier, it seems like your hands are healing nicely. At least the concerning the infection.”

His heart sped up pleasantly. This was the first time since he came here that he was referred to with his name. It had been another thing Cahir had tried to take away from him, dehumanising him by calling him his songbird. But now this woman called him Jaskier like it wasn’t special, like it was commonplace to call him by his name. Like it didn’t mean the world to him. 

Once she was satisfied with her work, Eligia turned away, rummaging through something Jaskier couldn’t see. When she came back, she held a vial with a brownish liquid inside to his lips. Instinctively Jaskier pressed his lips together and averted his face. 

The healer rolled her eyes, but there was no real irritation in the gesture. “It’s not poison if that’s what you’re thinking. Though it definitely won’t taste very good. It is to keep your fever low.” 

Jaskier kept eying the vial with suspicion, but didn’t resist when his head was tilted back cautiously and the healer slowly poured the liquid into his mouth.  
She hadn’t lied about the taste. But compared to the constant taste of bile he had suffered through for the past days, this was easy to endure. That didn’t keep him from involuntarily pulling a face though.

“Don’t blame me.” The woman discarded the vial and brushed his hair out of his forehead to make space for a wet cloth. “You wouldn’t need to drink that, if those idiots had actually done what I told them to at the very beginning. But oh no, the great soldiers thought it would be a good idea to only dress the infected cuts half-heartedly and completely ignore the raging fever and now they leave me to clean up the mess they made.” 

Jaskier’s voice was still raw and it hurt his throat to speak, but he had to tell her. For some reason Jaskier felt safe around her. As safe as any prisoner could, at least. “I don’t blame you. It was Cahir.”

She contemplated him for a moment. “Yes, him too. Nothing of what he did was justified. It was cruel and inhuman. But we are at war. He just wants to end it as quickly as possible and for that he needs the information only you can give. In his mind, everything you had to endure was for the greater good.” She hesitated as if she was unsure if she should continue. “Even if that was right, he still has no self-control. You are lucky that you are still alive.”

Jaskier wasn’t sure if he agreed. Whatever he was, lucky was not the word he would use to describe himself and being alive at the cost of this never ending pain…

Eligia held her hand to his cheek.  
“The fever is almost gone. Your broken bones won’t get better that quickly. But the fact that you are able to have a conscious conversation right now means that apart from your fingers, you are all but healed. That includes that nasty concussion you had going on. Don’t worry though, I haven’t told Cahir yet. Some more days of rest will do you good.”

The unspoken truth of the words she didn’t dare say out loud hung in the air between them. He would need his rest, before he’d be broken again by Cahir.

She kept talking while reapplying new bandages around his hands. If she did it to distract him from what was to come, she didn’t succeed. 

“You have been talking a lot in your sleep. Not all of it was quite as poetic as one would expect from a bard. Though there were some lovely description about a certain set of eyes. Not everything you said made sense of course, they were fever dreams after all. But if there was one thing that became clear, it’s that Cahir had been right. Howsoever your history with the witcher had ended, you do know and care a lot about him. You won’t be able to deny that anymore. In your sleep you practically admitted to Cahir that you had been lying.”

His mouth went dry. The twitching of his hands was stopped by the bandages that were still being wrapped around them, as he frantically searched for the right words. “Those- those were just dreams! Cahir talked so much about me knowing Geralt that my subconscious must have mixed up reality with his words. I swear I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t know the witcher.”

She just gave him a look that spoke volumes. What exactly had he said when he was asleep that had her so irrevocably convinced he had been lying to Cahir?

Eventually she spoke up again. “Listen, Jaskier. It is time, you helped yourself. I can treat your wounds for now, but we both know they won’t be the last injuries you’ll receive if you keep going like this. The longer you drag this out, the worse it might get. You know as well as I do that Cahir won’t stop. He will find a way to get to the witcher and the princess.”

“Doesn’t seem like they’ve had any luck with that just yet. And I sure as hell will not help them hunt down a child. If your people really want to end the war as quickly as possible, they can just pack up, stop fighting and go back where you came from.”

She threw her hands up in frustration. “Do you think I want them to continue fighting? I am a healer, what I do is the opposite of what our forces stand for. But you are my patient. I can’t prevent the whole continent from facing pain, but I can try to do that for you. So I’m not asking you to do anything for Cahir or the rest of the army. I’m asking you to help yourself. I don’t know you, but for now you are my responsibility and no one deserves to be hurt the way you are hurt by Cahir. And I am sure, if Geralt had ever cared even half as much about you as it seems from your dreams, you do for him, he would not want you to suffer because of him; wherever he is now, whatever the reason he hasn’t come for you yet. No one could fault you for looking out for yourself, least of all someone that close to you.”

“We aren’t close.”

“Why must you be so stubborn?” Irritation flashed through her brown eyes and for a moment she reminded Jaskier of someone else. But he couldn’t place who.

“Maybe because Nilfgaard has tortured me?,” he said, voice trembling. “Maybe because even if I have wished oh so often I could tell Cahir what he wanted to know, just to make it stop, I will not ever help him hurt more people than he already has. What even is his plan? Using me to find Geralt and using him to find Cirilla? And how exactly would he do that? Torturing a witcher like he had me would be a waste of his time. He would have to be cruel beyond compare to get anything out of a witcher. And I will not let a black-clad bastard do that to anyone else if I can’t help it. I will not support a people that are uncaring and bloody-minded.” 

The quiet that followed stretched long enough that Jaskier wondered whether he should have rather kept his tirade to himself. The healer fumbled with the bandages again, but Jaskier thought it looked as if she was just looking for something to do that didn’t make it seem as if she was avoiding eye contact. Eventually she found her voice again. 

“You know I am of Nilfgaard too.”

Oh. Jaskier faltered. Between the kind words and the caring treatment, he had actually forgotten who Eligia was. 

“But you are a healer. It is your job to help me. You are just doing what you are told to do.” 

It was a weak explanation. No one had told her to allow him to rest more than strictly necessary. No one had told her to treat him with kindness rather than cold civility or the roughness of his former caretakers. 

“Do you honestly believe that? That I am just doing this out of obligation and that me being of Nilfgaard inherently makes me evil and unfeeling?” 

“Yes, I do.”

No, he doesn’t. He thinks of her asking for his permission before touching him and them exchanging names. He thinks of the soldier with the trimmed beard who had been there when he was kidnapped and who had confessed to slacking off on the job, while talking to Jaskier like two new acquaintances rather than a prisoner and his guard.  
Jaskier’s acting skills must have gotten lost somewhere along the way, because from the way she looked at him now, the healer didn’t seem even slightly convinced by his words.

Jaskier swallowed dryly and relented. “If your work isn’t the reason for your care, what it? Why are you showing me - a prisoner- such kindness?”

“Because no one else does.”

He couldn’t argue with her there. “But I don’t understand why you are working for them then. You are healing soldiers, helping them fight a war you don’t seem to believe in. It makes no sense!”

Her expression closed off and Jaskier immediately regretted accusing her so. She didn’t give him any time for his self-pity and regrets. Staring him straight in the eye, she answered. 

“Why are you spreading propaganda with your songs then? I have heard your tunes. For someone who doesn’t believe in this war either, you are telling your people quite firmly to stand up for themselves.”

“That is different-“

“How?”

He met her challenging stare, opened his mouth and closed it again. He found no right answer to this. He didn’t have to. Eligia saw his defeat in his eyes.

“I do it for the same reason as you do,” she said, her tone soft again. “We both have someone fighting in this war. You have your witcher.” Jaskier opened his mouth, but she cut him off, before he could voice his protest. “You don’t have to deny it again. I have heard the stories of you travelling with him and the princess of Cintra. I know that Cahir hunted you for a long time. No one would have stayed with them through that for so long, if they didn’t mean everything to you. You have them to protect and I have my sister. You have met her actually. She told me about how she brought you here.”

Jaskier drew back in confusion, before taking a closer look at the caramel eyes that he with a sudden clarity realized undoubtedly were the same of colour as the soldier’s who had punched and blindfolded him after dragging him out of the tavern so long ago.  
How on earth could one sister be so violent and strict while the other turned out so sweet and caring? He gaped at her with an open mouth. 

“I know what you’re thinking and I am sorry for how she treated you. She had to fight hard to earn her position and she wouldn’t risk losing it by letting such an important prisoner escape. I can’t say I approve of what she’s done, but I do understand her. She isn’t perfect, but I love her. And I will not let her go into battle without being there to treat her wounds and make sure she is safe. No matter what she does, I will stand by her side.”

“You are doing this out of loyalty and yet you want me to betray someone and put him through torture?”

The healer sighed and finally lowered her eyes. “Do you truly think covering for you and delaying the interrogation isn’t considered a betrayal? My family is the most important thing in my life, but still I am making what I think is the right choice, helping you. I only hope, you will do the same.”

**9 months into being friends again**

Geralt scowled at the sky. Tiny specs of white tumbled down.  
When they had noticed, Jaskier had immediately put Ciri in a set of warmer clothes and taken her outside to enjoy the first snow of the year. 

Geralt couldn’t share his enthusiasm. The early snow meant they would have to change their plans. They had wanted to spend at least a month longer at a secluded cottage Yennefer had found that was close to the woods and far from civilisation, but the unexpected onset of winter made Geralt restless. How long would it take until their resources would run low? If the snow continued to fall like this, eventually it would block the way to the next town and Yennefer’s magic wouldn’t keep them warm forever. She needed to take a break sometime as well. 

He watched as Yennefer went over to Jaskier and Ciri who were trying to catch the snowflakes in their mouths. She said something to Jaskier, who looked over at Geralt, before nodding and coming towards him. His earlier joy was dimmed and he looked almost crestfallen. 

“It’s winter again,” he said, when he had reached Geralt. “So this is it then, huh?”

Geralt furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you are going to take Ciri to Kaer Morhen, aren’t you?”

Geralt clenched his jaw. They had both known he would have to go there eventually, although they had avoided talking about it. It was no place for a little girl like Ciri. It was where mutants were created and children lost their carefree innocence to become witchers.  
But it also was the safest place Great knew and they couldn’t keep running forever. Jaskier surely had guessed his thoughts already. So he only grunted in agreement. 

Jaskier looked away. “So, I guess this is goodbye then.”

Startled, Geralt’s head snapped to him. “Goodbye? Are you not coming?”

“I…I didn’t think that was an option? We always split for the winter and you always said that Kaer Morhen was no place for humans.” 

“It isn’t, at least not anymore. Back before I became a witcher, humans would sometimes visit. That has changed a lot, of course. Not everyone that was thought a friend deserved that trust. They raided Kaer Morhen to rid the continent of the abominations that witchers are.”

Jaskier sucked in a sharp breath. “They did what? You aren’t abominations! You help people!”

“And that you think so is exactly the reason why I won’t keep you from it any longer. Vesemir won’t be happy about it, but that doesn’t mean he will send you away at the gates. Not in times like these and when I am with you. And Yennefer will come too, so you won’t have to face the other witchers alone.” 

Even without Yennefer he wouldn’t be alone, of course. Geralt wouldn’t allow anyone make Jaskier feel like he was a nuisance. Although Lambert would certainly try.  
Jaskier looked over to Yen who was laughing with Ciri. Some tension left him. He and Yennefer might not be friends exactly, but it has been weeks, since their taunts had held any real bite. Jaskier still looked unsure though. 

“I don’t know… You don’t have to take me with you, if that will make things uncomfortable with the other witchers for you. I mean, they are your family and if they do turn me away, I wouldn’t want you to have to stand between them and me.” 

Jaskier was right. Although the place bore memories of pain and realization that he wouldn’t see his mother again, it had become the closest thing he had to a home. He had found a new family there. He trusted Eskel like a brother and Vesemir was his father in all but name. But he’d be damned if Jaskier wasn’t family too.

“You’ll do alright. That is, unless you don’t want to come.” What if Jaskier just hadn’t wanted to say it outright? Geralt clenched and unclenched his fists nervously. “I would understand it if you didn’t. The winters in Kaer Morhen are hard and unforgiving. It will be boring for you and it won’t be as comfortable as spending the winter under the patronage of a lord. It is fine, if you want to take a break from spending all of your time with me and if you would rather find a better place and sing your songs again.”

Of course, he would choose to do so. It was a wonder Jaskier was still so cheerful after having forgone so much of what he loved for him and Ciri. But Jaskier’s hand that was cold from the winter-air found his and threaded his fingers with Geralt’s. 

“I would love to come, if you’ll have me.” 

In all the years that Geralt had travelled to Kaer Morhen, this was by far the shortest and most comfortable journey. At least, when he disregarded his own distaste for portals and the eternity it took them to get Roach to walk through a portal again. Even though they have used this magic to flee the threat of Nilfgaard multiple times during the past four months, Roach hadn’t become any less stubborn.

Yennefer had transported them to a spot in the forest surrounding Kaer Morhen that Geralt had described to her. They would still have to walk a great deal, but they had skipped the most dangerous parts of the way. Had they tried to travel any closer via magic, they would not have been able to. Geralt had never gotten an explanation, but apparently some types or magic were unable to get past a certain point close to the witchers’ keep. 

Geralt who walked next to Roach and guided her with her reins, led his friends through the secret path he knew by heart but that others would never be able to find on their own. He had told his companions to stay close to him, lest they stray from the path and got lost. Thankfully he heard them following him closely and heeding his advice. 

But just to be sure, every once in a while, Geralt threw a glance over his shoulder. Jaskier walked right behind him. He looked around in wonder, probably trying to remember the way or figure out what hidden landmark Geralt would turn at next. Yennefer walked at the back, holding Ciri by the hand, but always attentive to any possible threats. 

They climbed over fallen trees and crossed a river. Geralt carried Ciri for that and let Jaskier guide Roach, since the horse was packed with their supplies and couldn’t carry one of them. The water was freezing but thankfully not deep enough to reach past their thighs. It was cold enough as it was. 

Jaskier didn’t say anything, but as they continued on their way, Geralt could hear Jaskier’s teeth clattering. He lifted a low-hanging branch that blocked their way and heard Jaskier gasp at the sight of the cliff that rose up high before them. 

“Oh please don’t tell me, we’ll have to climb up there.”

He sounded truly horrified at the prospect. Geralt shook his head. “There is a gap in there. We are almost there.”

The gap was easy to miss. It took a particular angle to be able to notice it at all, but still it was wide enough to walk through comfortably, even with a horse. 

As they made their way through, Jaskier suddenly tugged on his sleeve. 

“Geralt,” he whispered. “There is someone there.”

Geralt had noticed the man standing with crossed arms in the shadows long before Jaskier had drawn his attention to him.  
The disapproval of the man was obvious, when he spoke.  
“When you sent the message you wouldn’t be coming here alone, I didn’t think you’d bring an entire household.”

“Lambert.” He greeted the younger witcher with a nod.

Lambert left the shadows and scowled at Geralt’s friends. He didn’t bother to lower his voice. “Are you completely out of your mind? Bringing one stranger here is risky enough, but _three_?” 

“All of them have my full trust. They will not betray me.”

Lambert pushed past him. Geralt had to restrain himself from grabbing him and holding him back. He knew he had to let him do this if he wanted Lambert to except his friends staying here. Not that he would be able to keep Geralt from defending his friends, but he would sure as hell be able to make them miserable for as long as they were here. 

Lambert walked straight up to Jaskier and stared him down. Geralt wasn’t surprised to see Jaskier maintaining the eye contact without flinching. He had been crazy enough to approach one glowering witcher decades ago. What was one more? Still, he could hear Jaskier’s heart speed up as Lambert got even closer, until their faces were only inches apart. 

“Betray us and you won’t live long enough to be able to regret it.” He stepped back and looked Jaskier up and down with a sneer. “You wouldn’t not get far, scrawny as you are, you couldn’t hold your own against a child.”

Jaskier snorted. “Have you ever fought a child? They can be vicious!”  
“And he just so happens to be the friend of one very powerful woman,” Yennefer chimed in, voice cold.

“Are you threatening me?”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Are you questioning Geralt’s judgement? He didn’t just meet us yesterday. So how about you stop trying to establish dominance and let us in. Geralt told you, he trusts us. Isn’t that enough?”

Geralt could practically see Lambert fighting with himself to hold back another remark.  
As proud he was that his friends didn’t let the harsh witcher walk over them and that Yennefer had called Jaskier her friend without batting an eye, he had to step in, before this escalated. 

“Who else is here?,” he asked.

“Only Vesemir. Of course.” Lambert’s posture relaxed slightly. ”But we expect Eskel to arrive tomorrow.”

Damn. He had hoped Eskel would already be here. He surely would have been able to remedy Lambert’s frigid welcome that had sent Ciri’s and Jaskier’s hearts racing.  
At least Lambert hadn’t targeted his child. Geralt didn’t want to see how she would react when she was threatened by a man that was towering over her. No matter how hard Yennefer had worked to understand her magic, they had not come far in controlling it. 

But thankfully Lambert didn’t insist on testing the limits. “Vesemir is in the study, reading. You might want to tell him about your guests.”

It was exactly where Geralt had expected him to be. Despite the fact that Vesemir had been a hunting monsters for longer than Geralt and Lambert combined, he still insisted on revising his knowledge about the creatures.  
Like he always said “It is better to reread the bestiary a hundred times than forgetting that Wyferns are venomous and get killed one time.”  
He had a point of course, but that didn’t mean Geralt and the other witchers that had trained under Vesemir didn’t make fun of it behind his back. 

Geralt brought Roach to the stables and then led his friends to Vesemir’s study. Just as Lambert had said, they found him reading. Vesemir didn’t look up from his book, as they entered. 

Jaskier, Yennefer and Ciri stood a bit awkwardly to the side. It had been a while since either of them had been in the company of someone who without a doubt held more authority then them. Or rather, someone who held authority that they acknowledged as such. Jaskier had certainly been in the presence of many a higher ranking person he had insulted. But even he seemed to sense that it was better to show the old witcher the respect he deserved. 

“Is it truly necessary to bring that many outsiders to Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt sighed inwardly. He had known, he wouldn’t get out of yet another scolding, but he had hoped it would wait until he’d be alone with Vesemir. 

“It is. I told you about my child of surprise. Ciri needs to be trained and to be kept safe. There is no better place than Kaer Morhen.” He hesitated. “And she has magic I can’t teach her about. It is different from the signs. Yennefer” he gestured towards her and she acknowledged it with a nod. “is a sorceress. The best one I know. If anyone can help Ciri control her power, it’s her.”

Vesemir hummed in agreement, but then his eyes wandered over to Jaskier. “The child and the sorceress I understand. But why him?”

Geralt swallowed. Yes, why Jaskier? He couldn’t very well admit that the thought of being parted from him again, especially with the threat of a war looming over the continent, made his blood run cold. Emotions shouldn’t have anything to do with a witcher’s decisions. 

Before he could come up with an answer, Jaskier spoke up. “I can play the lute.” 

He heard Yennefer try to repress a snort and Ciri couldn’t help but giggle. Geralt wanted to hit his own forehead and sighed. 

“That he does.” 

Vesemir stood up from his chair and addressed Jaskier directly. “You don’t happen to have written that song about witchers?”

Geralt heard Jaskeir swallow. “Which one exactly? I may or may not have written a lot of them.”

Vesemir shot Geralt a disapproving look. “Honestly, Geralt, I had expected better from you than to let him write songs that are so inaccurate. You should have at least insisted that he get the basics right.” He pointed to the book he had been reading. “If you want to continue singing about monsters, bard, you should read that book. Maybe some of that will stick with you.” 

Jaskier’s eyes shone brightly. “I am allowed to read that?” 

Vesemir huffed. “At least someone who is interested in the bestiary.” For anyone who didn’t know Vesemir very well, his expression remained unchanged, but Geralt could see it for the tiny smile that it was. “Geralt, you should show them to the rooms where they can change out of these soaked clothes and sleep. It is getting late.” 

Geralt nodded and made to leave the room after the others who after hearing Vesemir’s words had already turned around, but Vesemir’s voice halted him. 

“And Geralt? It’s good to see you again. Welcome home.”

It was a strange feeling walking the halls of Kaer Morhen again, knowing that it wasn’t just witchers who resided there anymore. None of his friends had shown any outward distain for their rooms he had brought them to yesterday. All of them had seen worse, especially these past months. But they had also known better, each one having been used to a noble’s or even royal’s comfort at one point in their lives. 

Still, Geralt knew they would never judge him that instead of those comforts he had only known barren rooms and food that had been prepared by him or his fellow witchers, growing up. 

They hadn’t complained about the food either, although the porridge Lambert had made for breakfast today had been rather bland, just as every food the young witcher had ever made.  
No, they hadn’t complained, but when Lambert had looked away, Ciri had pulled a face that had Geralt smiling and Jaskier almost snorting out some of the porridge. Yennefer had kicked him under the table, but Geralt knew it was only years of practice that had allowed her to keep a straight face. 

After cleaning up the table, Vesemir had told him to show his friends around Kaer Morhen. “But be brief. I want to see you on the training grounds in an hour. Just because you have guests doesn’t mean you get out of training. And we have to see what Ciri already knows.”

There was no chance for ‘being brief’. Although not all parts of Kaer Morhen were still intact and accessible, it would take hours to lead someone through the entire fortress, let alone have them remember the way. For anyone who hadn’t spent years in these halls, Kaer Morhen was like a labyrinth. 

So Geralt only showed them the most important places. They already knew where the witchers took their meals. The kitchen was the next room. He led them through hallways and down some winding stairs towards the baths. Then up again and towards the library. 

He had the feeling that out of the three of them, Yennefer was the only one who after the second time climbing the stairs hadn’t completely lost all sense of orientation. And he hadn’t even shown them how to get to their own rooms yet. He would have to do that later. The hour Vesemir had given him was almost up. They had to return to the training grounds and Geralt doubted it would be of any use to continue the tour anyway. 

“Do you mind if I go back to the library?,” Yennefer asked. “Maybe I will find something there that could help me figure out Ciri’s power.” 

“Of course. Should I show you the way back?”

“It’s fine. I have actually paid attention to the way, unlike some other people.”

“Hey, I was paying attention!,” Ciri protested. 

“I know, sweetie. I wasn’t talking about you.” 

Ciri giggled at Jaskier’s scandalized gasp. “Lies! Slander!”

Yennefer only smirked at Jaskier, before taking the way back they had come before, while Geralt guided Ciri who was laughing at Jaskier’s continued protest down again. 

They hadn’t made it far, when a man rounded a corner in front of them. Ciri gasped when she saw the face that was distorted by a set of deep scars that stretched across half of it. 

“Eskel!”

Geralt hurried over to his brother, who spread his arms to embrace him. They hugged and patted each other on the shoulder. 

When they separated, Eskel grinned at him. “It’s been too long, Wolf.” He looked over Geralt’s shoulder. “Who are your friends?”

Geralt motioned for them to come closer. He laid a hand on Ciri’s shoulder reassuringly. She still looked a bit taken aback by Eskel’s appearance, but he could feel her shoulders relax as Eskel smiled at her. 

“This is Ciri. The lion cub of Cintra.” 

Eskel nodded. He knew what had happened to the kingdom and the royal family and Geralt had told him having a child surprise years ago. 

He hesitated and tried to keep his voice casually even. “And this is Jaskier.”

Eskel’s eyes widened impalpably. “Jaskier the bard?”

Jaskier grinned. “My reputation precedes me, it seems.”

“Oh, believe me, it does. I have heard plenty about you.” Eskel laughed at Geralt’s uncomfortable expression. And to think Geralt had been looking forward until these two met. “Only good things, of course. Mostly. I have to tell you; that song you wrote? It made life as a witcher so much easier. You should have seen my face the first time I walked into a tavern looking for work and people started singing and smiling at me!”

Jaskier beamed. “They did that? I had hoped it would do some good, but hadn’t been sure.”

Eskel grinned roguishly and leaned in closer to Jaskier. “Oh you don’t know half of it. Being treated decently is great, but the best part was coming to Kaer Morhen after Lambert had heard the song for the first time. The poor bastard had it stuck in his head for months. It was hilarious! If you’re lucky , maybe you’ll hear him hum it. But you better not tease him about it, if you want to keep your head.” 

“Speaking of having our heads ripped off,” Geralt interrupted, before Eskel could relay any more anecdotes to Jaskier, who looked very intrigued. “We should go to the training grounds if we don’t want to get scolded by Vesemir.”

Eskel snorted. “As if he’s not going to criticize us anyway! I bet you five crowns, we won’t get through one sparring before he tells us we are as sloppy as little children.” 

“You are as sloppy as children!” Vesemir’s sharp voice cut through their grunts, as they spun around, slashing and parrying each other’s attacks. “Not like that! Eskel, you are holding that sword like an old hag holds a broomstick. Geralt, what do you think you are doing? You don’t dodge a downward-swing with a half-pirouette! You sidestep it!”

Had they not been to focussed on following Vesemir’s commands, they would have grinned. 

Geralt spun around to get more momentum and Eskel barely managed to block his sword. 

“Sloppy footwork, Eskel! Maybe Lambert should go over the basics with you instead of Ciri. You fight like you’re holding a sword for the first time.”

Geralt risked a quick glance to the side. Lambert was assessing what Geralt had already told Ciri about sword-fighting. He didn’t look very impressed, but then again, he barely did. 

“Geralt, focus, damn it!”

He ducked under Eskels’s sword that had come for his chest in a half-circle. In one swift motion he swept Eskel’s feet from under him. The other witcher fell and took the momentum to roll and get himself out of reach for Geralt’s next attack. Eskel smirked. 

“Showing off, are we?”

Geralt didn’t grace him with an answer, but his eyes briefly darted over to where Jaskier was sitting to the side and watching them fight with interest. 

“You really are!,” Eskel taunted. 

“Shut up.” 

Geralt quickened his attacks so that Eskel had to pay attention to blocking them and didn’t have time for his unwanted quips anymore. The swords clanged together again and again in a beautiful but deadly dance. 

Eskel grabbed his wrist unexpectedly and pushed his sword against Geralt’s with as much strength as he could muster. Geralt pushed back against him.  
Eskel must have not thought this through. They both knew that when it came to pure strength, Geralt was superior. 

He shifted his weight towards Eskel, who had to lean back to keep his balance. This fight was as good as won. The tiny smirk was all the warning Geralt got, before Eskel suddenly went with the force of Geralt’s and twisted around while going down on one knee. Geralt was thrown over Eskel’s shoulder and landed hard on the floor. 

Thankfully, he had had enough clear-headedness to throw his sword away during the fall or he would have left this sparring with a new scar.  
As it was, he wouldn’t even leave it with his dignity intact as Eskel pointed his sword at Geralt’s throat, grinning. 

Geralt rolled his eyes, but hit his own chest twice to admit his defeat. Eskel put the sword away and held out his hand. Geralt took it and let Eskel pull him up. There had been a time where both of them would have taken the opportunity to try and hook a foot around each other’s legs and bring them to fall instead. But after Vesemir’s last outburst about them not taking their training seriously and behaving like scallywags, they had decided to stop doing that. At least while Vesemir was around to see. 

While they caught their breaths, Geralt watched Lambert and Ciri again. She had learned the basics of sword-fighting remarkably quickly. Understandably, she was still unsure of herself and she wouldn’t be able to hold her own like this in a fight, but she was already past the usual beginner’s mistakes.

“We can take a break from the fighting for now.” Lambert didn’t even give Ciri a chance to sag in relief, before adding “It’s time you work on your speed and agility. I am going to show you the _trail_. Try to keep up.” 

And with that he ran away from the grounds and towards the detested path that most young witchers had dubbed the _Killer_ , followed by an already panting, but determined Ciri. 

Geralt watched until they were out of sight, before resuming his own training. He tried not to look, but he could feel Jaskier’s eyes in the back of his neck. It was distracting, but at least he was spared Eskel’s comments. 

He had just won the second sparring and Vesemir had left the them to train on their own, when Lambert returned alone. 

“Where is Ciri?,” he heard Jaskier ask. 

Lambert waved dismissively. “She is running the _trail_ on her own until she doesn’t stumble over every other log and fallen tree blocking her path,” he said as if Jaskier knew what he meant by that. “But what about you? One shouldn’t sit idly in Kaer Morhen. How about you fight a bit as well?” 

Lambert casually picked up a training sword and threw it to Jaskier who didn’t even attempt to catch it, but took a step back as it landed in front of his feet. 

“Ahh, no thank you. I think I’m better off just watching.”

“You’re not scared are you? I’ll go easy on you. You can’t be any worse than the child. Man up.” 

Geralt supressed a snort. Jaskier was easily riled up by a lot of things. Questioning his masculinity was definitely not one of them. And Lambert’s taunts paled in comparison to the passive-aggressive insults Geralt had seen Jaskier deal out and receive in court. 

“Nah, I’m good. The bit of fighting that Geralt taught me is perfectly sufficient.”

Lambert raised his eyebrows mockingly and the suggestive undertone in his voice was hard to miss as he said “Oooh, he taught you how to handle a sword? I doubt he is any good at that. He probably gave up teaching you after a while because your swordsmanship wasn’t satisfying.”

Jaskier’s eyes flashed. He grabbed the sword from the floor.  
Fuck.

Geralt left Eskel’s side who had also forgone getting ready for another fight in order to watch what was unfolding before him. Geralt went over to Jaskier and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t let him provoke you. You don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, believe me, I do want to show him what he gets for insulting you!”

What he would get is probably a laugh at Jaskier’s expanse. No matter who proud Geralt had been at how far Jaskeir had come when he had trained him, he was no match for a witcher. 

As Jaskier turned back to Lambert, who was exchanging meaningful looks with Eskel, he let his hand brush over Jaskier’s hip. At least it would look like that to the others if they had paid any attention.  
Jaskier looked at him surprised, but with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, as he felt the weight of the knife Geralt had just slipped him and that now rested hidden under his belt. 

Geralt crossed his arms as Eskel joined him, watching as Lambert and Jaskier took on their stances. 

“Do you think your bard will have any dignity left, when this is over?,” Eskel asked without taking his eyes off the two unequal fighters.

Geralt didn’t answer. He just watched in expectant suspense, as Lambert swung his sword in a lazy circle. Jaskier blocked. 

Good. These were basics. Jaskier knew these. No matter how much he had complained when Geralt had drilled them in, Geralt knew that his lark now thought it had all been worth it, if only so he could wipe the smirk of Lambert’s face as the witcher realized Jaskier actually knew a thing or two about fighting. 

Lambert’s swings got harder and faster. Jaskier parried as good as he could. He side-stepped and used his momentum. Inwardly Geralt was brimming with pride. 

“Your bard is not half-bad,” Eskel murmured next to him. Not half-bad indeed. 

But of course, Lambert wouldn’t leave it at that. It became clear quickly that his attack patterns became too advanced for Jaskier. 

Instead of parrying or trying any counter-attacks, Jaskier stumbled backwards. One particularly hard blow, made him lose his balance. He went down on one knee to catch his fall. 

But he fixed Lambert with a determined stare and went for one last desperate swing with his sword. Lambert lazily guided his own sword to his left, to block the laughable attempt at an attack.  
And his sword was met by nothing but air. Jaskier had let go of his own weapon a moment before Lambert could block it. The witcher stared at the dropped weapon confused and missed the crucial moment, when Jaskier pulled the knife from his belt and jumped at Lambert. 

Out of instinct, the witcher grabbed Jaskier’s wrist, before the knife could come anywhere near him. He stared at the small weapon dumbfounded. Slowly a grin spread across Lambert’s face that turned into a thundering laugh. He let go of Jaskier’s wrist and slapped his shoulder approvingly. 

“Well done, I did not expect you to try and best me with my own trick. Maybe you are not so out of place here, after all.” Jaskier returned the grin. “The way you used that knife was good, but let me show you how this trick works even better –“ 

Lambert spent the next hours showing Jaskier how to perfect the move. Geralt had never spared it much of a thought, but Lambert must have been thinking about this technique a lot, ever since he had been reprimanded for using it as a child.  
He had made his usual gruff comments at Jaskier, as he worked on making this move become second nature to him, but they held considerably less bite in them. 

Geralt and Eskel abandoned their sparring and trained on the pendulum instead.  
Around midday, Lambert fetched Ciri off the _trail_ and they all took a break to eat some of Lambert’s awful noodles. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt threw worrying glances at Ciri. He remembered how hard the training had been for him as a child. But despite how exhausted Ciri was, she beamed when she told him that she had already gotten faster when running the _trail_ and how exited she was to try again until she got as fast as Lambert. 

The afternoon was spent mostly in the same fashion, except that Jaskier brought the bestiary outside with him to read, instead of letting himself get roped into any more swordfights. 

The training ended when Yennefer came back from the library, where she had spent most of the day and said something to Vesemir in a voice too low to catch. The old witcher nodded grimly, before calling the training off. The sun was already close to setting anyway. 

Vesemir took Geralt to the side.  
“Tell Ciri to wash up. She has trained enough for today and we have to discuss what we are going to do about her. Come with her to my study, when she’s ready.”

Geralt nodded and went to get the girl. She really could use a bath and some time to rest. Geralt doubted she would get much of the latter in the months to come. 

They passed Eskel and Lambert on the way to the baths. They had taken Jaskier between them. Lambert punched Jaskier good-naturedly on the shoulder and said “Listen, bard, don’t think time in Kaer Morhen is only spent training. We’ll show you the real fun!”

Geralt watched his brothers dragging Jaskier away. He really hoped they wouldn’t go too hard on him. 

While Ciri was taking her bath, Geralt went to the store room. It didn’t take long until he found some old clothes that would fit Ciri. He set them out in front of the door and went away to let her have her privacy. 

When she was done, Geralt’s heart clenched painfully. With the hair that Jaskier had fortunately managed to cut short without it looking like a disaster and the slightly to long sleeves that had to be rolled up, she looked almost like one of the boys they had trained to become witchers.  
He swallowed and guided her to Vesemir’s study. 

His old mentor and Yennefer had been waiting for them and it seemed like they had been talking, when Geralt and Ciri entered the room. 

Yennefer didn’t beat around the bush. “I have found something about Ciri’s magic. She is a _source_.” Geralt furrowed his brows. Yennefer apparently noticed his confusion. “It’s an incredibly powerful and rare type of magic. Not much is known about it, except for that it can be dangerous for the _source_ if they don’t learn to control it.” She hesitated and Geralt a foreboding feeling made its way through Geralt. “I have to learn more about it and I can’t do it here. I will have to go back to Aretuza. Maybe Tassaia can help me.”

“Can she be trusted?,” Geralt asked sharply.

Yennefer nodded firmly. “She is the one that lead the Brotherhood of Sorcerers’ stand against Nilfgaard in the battle of Sodden Hill. Had it not been for her, I would not have survived the battle. She would not betray my trust. Believe me I wouldn’t do this, if it wasn’t safe. And I don’t want to argue with you, not again. I will leave now and that is it.” 

Geralt furrowed his brow and looked out of the tiny window of the room. “Leave now? Yen, it is already dark. You can’t create portals in Kaer Morhen and you’d get lost out there in the dark. Not that I don’t trust your abilities, but that is too dangerous.”

“That’s why Vesemir has agreed to guide me out of Kaer Morhen where I can use my portals again.” 

“But I don’t want you to go.” There was a strange and unnatural undertone to Ciri’s voice. “You can’t leave me!” 

Ciri began to shake and the air grew thick, brimming with a sudden surge of power. Geralt’s medallion vibrated stronger than ever before.  
His head snapped to Vesemir, who looked at Ciri in alarm. Geralt had never seen Ciri’s magic in action. He wouldn’t know what to do, if it came bursting out of her now and neither did Vesemir apparently. It was a chilling thought. Geralt had always been able to rely on the older witcher to know what to do.

Yennefer was the only one who seemed to know how to react. She went down on a knee before Ciri. 

“It is alright.” She stroked over Ciri’s hair, slowly easing her back to calmness. “It’s alright. I promise I will be back for you. For now, you are safe here. You will be taught how to fight so no one will be able to hurt you, alright?”

Piece by piece, the power receded form the air.

“But I will miss you.” Ciri’s voice was small and the tears in it stabbed at Geralt’s chest.

“I will miss you too, sweetie. But you still have Geralt and Jaskier. And I’m sure you will learn to like the other witchers as well.” 

“I already do. But not as much as I like you.” 

Geralt saw how Yennefer had to choke back tears, as Ciri threw her arms around her. The sorceress held the child tightly pressed against her. 

“I’ll be back. I swear it,” she mumbled into Ciri’s hair. Reluctantly they parted. Yennefer turned to Geralt, smily slightly. “Take care of her for me. And take care of Jaskier. Don’t let him do anything stupid without me there to watch it.”

Geralt returned the smile. “I can’t make any promises on the latter. But I will keep Ciri safe. Take care, Yen.”

“You too.” 

She lovingly stroked over Ciri’s head one last time, before she left accompanied by Vesemir. 

Sighing deeply, Geralt turned to Ciri who had her head lowered, as if she wanted to hide the tears that were running down her cheeks. 

“You’ve had a long day. Let’s get you to bed.” 

Ciri put her arms around Geralt’s neck as he lifted her up and carried her to her room.  
When she had been tugged into bed, she hesitatingly asked “She’s going to be fine, isn’t she?”

“Of course she is. Yen can protect herself. And she would fight an entire army single-handily and win if one stood in her way of getting back to you. Until then, you stay here with us.”

Ciri snuggled into her pillow. “I think I like your family.”  
And so did he. 

He left her room quietly after saying goodnight and went to find Jaskier and his brothers.  
It wasn’t hard to find them. All he had to do was follow the boisterous and very drunk sounding voices. They led him to the dining room that had apparently been converted into a makeshift tavern, at least judging from the smell of alcohol that hit Geralt even through the door. The sound of laughter reached him and he halted in front of the door. 

“And then he w’s like ‘Nooooo, Jaskier, that’s not how you hold ‘s ssword. You are tiny and weak and I am a big, strong, incdredbly muscly man, I do it differently.’”  
Jaskier had made his voice lower and rougher in a bad attempt to imitate Geralt’s. 

Gerlat closed his eyes in exasperation. How much did Jaskier have to drink? Yennefer wasn’t even gone for an hour and already he hadn’t been able to do what she wanted him to and keep Jaskier from doing something stupid without her being able to witness it.

“And then – and then! He was like ‘You have to aim t’ kill or you die. N’ver use this trick carelessly.’” 

He heard a clatter, as Jaskier must have walked up against something and he thought he heard Eskel tell Lambert to take away Jaskier’s knife. More crashing sounds were heard and they laughed again. 

Geralt’s chest warmed at the sound. He had expected Jaskier to get along with the witchers eventually, but he hadn’t dared to hope that it would take him only a day to laugh and joke with them.

Eskel sounded considerably less drunk than Jaskier, but it was obvious that he was not exactly sober anymore either. When he was drunk, he always did this thing where he would suddenly get very serious and sentimental. “You know, it’s really nice that you are with Geralt. He deserves to have someone and you are really great. For him. And with him.” 

Jaskier’s laughter suddenly died. “You heard ‘bout that? We wanted to be unconsp… unspicu… we wanted people to not see us!” 

“I didn’t hear anything, but I did see you together.” 

“Noooonononono, but we’re not together! We just said that, because ‘twas easier. And ‘s fun. But we’re not married. I wouldn’t accept a proprosal without a proper ring. And if we married, there would be a big big feast. And a dress. Do you think, I’d look good in a wedding dress? I think- I think I‘d look fucking gorgeous. And you! Lambert, you could be the maid of honour!”

This was getting too far. Geralt pushed the door open. His eyes fell immediately on the empty bottles of Sodden mead. 

Lambered snickered when he saw Geralt. “Here comes the bride.”

“No nono, Lambert, _I_ am the bride. Or maybe we’re both the bride. Geralt would be really pretty in a dress.” Jaskier’s tune shifted from wistful to dreamy. “I could braid his hair again…”

“Again?,” Eskel snorted.

Geralt rolled his eyes and grabbed the drink that Eskel held out to him. He really needed it. “That was one time,” he grumbled.

Jaskier pointed a finger at his face. “And you looked pretty! I mean you always look pretty, but then you looked even more prettier.” 

Geralt tried to ignore the stupid warmth that bubbled up inside of him. Jaskier was drunk. He didn’t know what he was talking about. Had had spent so long lying about Geralt’s and his relationship that he must have some of that act come back up when he was drunk. It wasn’t in Jaskier’s control of what he was saying right now. Geralt was sure if he gave Jaskier a few more minutes running off at the mouth, he would tell the other two how pretty they were too.

But Eskel prevented that from happening. He took a big swig of his drink, before pointing at the lute Jaskier had taken with him and that was leaning against the table, mercifully spared from the chaos around it. Not even in this drunken state would Jaskier let anything happen to his instrument.

“Do think you can still play or are you to drunk?”

“Can I still play?” Jaskier pressed his hand against his chest. “The audacity! I’m the best fucking bard there is. ‘f course I can still play. What d’ you want to hear?”

Lambert growled. “Anything but that ‘Toss a coin’ song. Can’t have that song stuck in my head again.”

“At least then, there’d be something in your head,” Geralt deadpanned.

Jaskier snorted, but complied with a twinkle in his eyes. He didn’t play his most well-known song. But the one he did play was not less catchy. It was the one he had written about the Basilisk and it was so inappropriate that it could make a maiden blush. But as it was, Jaskier just so happened to have an audience of three witchers, one of whom had somehow slept with a succubus. Nothing suggestive could shock Eskel, and so the song had him join in with the chorus after the second repeat. 

When the song had ended, Eskel turned serious once again. “You know, it’s not often to see a human so larksome when in the same room as three witchers.”

“I’m always larksome. I’m Geralt’s little lark. He said so! ‘twas a lie of course, but I a nice lie. I like that lie.”

Lambert snorted, but Eskel graciously ignored what Jaskier had just shared. “You’re not afraid at all, are you?”

“Why the fuck would I be? If you start saying that you’re unlov’ble, I will fight you! And you too, Geralt! Don’t laugh!” He leaned forward with a serious expression that didn’t fit his slurred voice. “I sure as hell won’t think you’re all bad, jusst because you’re wischers. I made that mistake with the elves and let me tell you” he pointed at all of them in turn. “Let me tell you! I was wrong! And they were nice. And then they gave me a lute. And then I broke the lute and Geralt gave me this lute.” He held it up for everyone to marvel at. Geralt cringed. He still hadn’t gotten around to buying him the better instrument he had promised him. “And he is nice too. So. You can’t be bad and I can’t be afraid.” 

He nodded, satisfied with his logic. Lambert shifted uncomfortably. This had always been a bit of a sore topic for him and it didn’t happen often that someone told a witcher to their face that they weren’t bad. Eskel seemed to notice the shift in the mood as well, for he suddenly turned to Geralt with a grin.

“Did you know your bard can do a really good impression of you? He had nailed the voice! And I think it’s only fair if you give us your impression of him.” 

He pushed Geralt off his chair and cheered him own. Geralt shot him a death glare. He really didn’t want to do this.  
His gaze caught Jaskier’s who looked at him expectantly. And Lambert looked like he could use a distraction. Oh, to hell it.  
Geralt had definitely not drunk enough for this. He emptied the bottle in one go. 

It felt strange to imitate Jaskier, even if he only did it half-heartedly. He didn’t want him to think he was mocking him. So he just stuck to the things, he thought would not bother Jaskier. 

He tried to make his voice smoother.  
“Valdo Marx can go fuck himself!,” he waved his hands around and winked at Jaskier. “Tell me more about this monster, this is going to be a wonderful song, dearest-“ he broke off, when he saw Jaskier blush and look away. Fuck. This is exactly what he hadn’t wanted. 

Lambert didn’t seem to notice. “You know what would make the impression really good? A song! Come on, Geralt, sing something!”

Geralt growled, his voice back to normal. “I don’t sing. Not ever. There is not enough alcohol in the world to get me to sing.” He hesitated, before sending Jaskier a tiny smile. “I’d rather leave that to someone who actually has a good voice.”

Eskel raised his tankard to him. “I’ll drink to that.”

And he did, while Jaskier smirked at Geralt and began playing yet another song.

“Nooo, not that one!” But Lambert’s cry went unheard by the bard as he sang as loud as he could. And despite his glowering and muttering that at least like this, everyone here would have the stupid song stuck in their heads, Lambert joined in with Eskel who was already singing. They bawled the song more than they sung it, but they were smiling and patting Jaskier on the back after it was done. 

Geralt’s heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. This was how it was supposed to be.  
He thought of what Ciri had told him before going to bed and now even more so than before, he had to agree with her.  
He really did love his family. All of it. And he would do anything to keep them safe.


	12. Come Rest Your Head

**Come Rest Your Head**

They spend another two days like this, the healer talking to him and making sure he was getting better mentally as well as physically. After that first day together, she stopped trying to convince him to rat out the witcher. Jaskier was incredibly thankful for it. Making it through this was hard enough without people constantly telling him what he should do and trying to force his decision, when he knew he didn’t really have a choice to begin with. 

On their fourth day, Eligia was quieter than before. She still exuded an air of care and gave Jaskier all the comfort she could, but when she turned to leave, she hesitated. 

“I won’t be able to come by tomorrow. Or after that. Cahir has been getting impatient and I have told him off too many times already. He’ll be back tomorrow. It isn’t much, but I told Cahir to lay of the physical punishment for now, if he wants to keep you responsive. I hope he’ll heed my words, but I can’t make any promises.”

Jaskier’s stomach clenched. He had known, it would happen eventually. Eligia had stretched his rest far longer than he would have thought possible already. He nodded stiffly. 

“Thank you,” he said thinly. “For everything.”

She gave him a tight smile and left. 

As Jaskier paced his cell and tossed and turned on his cot in the night, unable to sleep with the fear of what’s to come, Jaskier almost wished Cahir would be here already. Waiting for him, not knowing what he was going to do to Jaskier was practically torture on its own.  
But when the door opened again and Cahir stepped in, Jaskier found himself wishing, he could go back to waiting.  
Despite his fear, he didn’t tremble. Cahir needed him alive. The Nilfgaardian got closer until he was standing opposite of him, towering over him threateningly.  
Jaskier lifted his chin defiantly, as he found himself in this all too familiar situation. Cahir’s eyes narrowed at the not so subtle display of spirit. 

“You’ve had a lot of time to think. I hope you’ve come to a sensible conclusion.”

Jaskier repressed the snort. Sure, he’s had more than enough time. It was just that he didn’t have the best record when it came to making smart conclusions.  
But he did know that is was better to say nothing than to start sassing Cahir again. Better not piss him off already. 

“You’ve called out for the witcher quite a lot in your sleep. If you tell me where he might take a little girl, you could be reunited sooner.”

Still no response. Cahir grew visibly irritated. So much for not upsetting him.  
But what was Jaskier meant do? He couldn’t let the healer’s efforts go to waste, not this soon after being released from her care.  
Still, he stood by what he had told her. He was not able to help Cahir. No matter how much she had pleaded with him to make the right choice, he knew it wasn’t much of a choice for him anyway.

Apparently, she had more influence over the knight than Jaskier had assumed. Though Jaskier remained quiet throughout all of the questions that followed, Cahir didn’t once strike him or pull out his knife. Cahir would only repeat his questions, despite Jaskier’s stony silence. It almost seemed as if Cahir had resigned to not getting anything out of Jaskier and was only asking for the routine.

They continued like this for hours after the sparing light that shone through the window had faded. The dark of the cell made it hard to keep a clear head. Jaskier became painfully aware of the sleep he had missed the night before. Slowly, his eyes drifted shut. Who cared that Cahir was still here? He wasn’t going to suddenly get answers out of him now. And although he had spent the past few days resting and recovering from his wounds and fewer, he just wanted to catch up to the sleep he hadn’t gotten this night. Cahir be damned.

Smack. 

His eyes flew open wide at the sudden sting on his cheek. It hadn’t been a strong slap, not nearly as hard as he knew Cahir to be able to hit, but after days of being spared the violence, it came as a shock to him. How easily he had let himself become spoiled by some non-violence. 

“You’ve had enough sleep.”

That finally made Jaskier break his silence. He let out a laugh. “So this is your great plan? Keeping me awake? You can’t honestly believe that will give you answers.” 

“I am not here for answers anymore.”

“What then? My lovely company?”

Cahir didn’t grace him with a reply. Jaskier wasn’t exactly bothered by that. As the silence dragged on for what felt like another hour, Jaskier found that the main problem was the boredom. Every once in a while he would stifle a yawn. His eyes would close for a second, only to immediately snap open at the smack he received.  
He moaned as he rubbed his reddening cheek. 

“I assure you keeping me awake is not going to break my spirit or whatever it is you are hoping for. I’ve had may a sleepless night filled with moans, though they most definitely were of a different kind.”

Cahir’s lips curled into a mocking smirk. “I am well aware that you sank low enough to let yourself become the witcher’s whore.” 

“Excuse me!?” Jaskier gasped, scandalized. “My sexual habits are none of your business. Regardless of who I did or did not sleep with, I would like you to be respectful, arsehole!”

That was the last bit of conversation they had. Jaskier didn’t sleep that night. Halfway through it, Cahir left and was replaced by two different soldiers. It was unpleasant, mostly boring, but not half as bad as what he had been put through before he had fallen sick. What was one waking night in the grand scheme of things?

Except, it wasn’t just one night. As the second night approached, he got slapped far more often. Sometimes it was a sudden yell or water being dumped on him that startled him awake.  
He forced his body to stay awake to escape the shocks of these unpleasant awakenings, although his mind was in a constant state of drifting off. He couldn’t hold onto a single thought.  
It didn’t take long until he was humming again to keep himself at least somewhat grounded.  
It took even less time until his guards went from being amused about the entertainment to being sick of the always same wordless song. And they had no qualms expressing their distaste. Not that that had any effect on Jaskier, except for making him sing even louder. 

By the third night, his song had died on his lips. His voice gave out and he couldn’t find the right notes anymore. He was barely even conscious. Lazy, disjointed thoughts swirled through his mind. 

With time the guards grew more irritable as well. Cahir hadn’t been here in a long time, leaving the dirty work to others, now that his torture was about boring Jaskier to death.  
It seemed the soldiers were having a similar problem as Jaskier, at least judging from _how_ they kept him awake. Water and slaps in the face were replaced by orders to walk around the room hoping the movement would take away the drowsiness. Lately they opted for making Jaskier embarrass himself, demanding he dance for their amusement. 

The joke was on them. Jaskier’s ability to feel humiliation had taken its leave long ago. Uncontrollable irritation and sudden anxiety, both of which appeared arbitrarily, had taken its place. But sometimes his mood swings calmed down and left him apathetic and compliant to whatever he was told to do. 

His stumbling dances earned him laughter and sarcastic applause. At long last an appreciative audience. Should he ever get out of this prison, he would try embarrassing himself in front of others. That might get him some coin now that he couldn’t play anymore. But first he would sleep for an entire week. 

He just wants some fucking sleep. Why can’t they let him sleep? Even the horrors of the fever induced nightmares would be preferable to this. 

At some point moving around and shocking him slightly wasn’t enough anymore to detain him from falling asleep. Against everything Eligia had ordered them to do, the soldiers took to violence; Twisting his broken fingers until he almost blacked out from the pain but had enough adrenaline surging through him to keep him awake for longer. 

He had stopped counting the days. His lack of concentration didn’t allow him to keep the numbers orderly in his head. He looked up as one of his guards turned to the other. Neither of their faces looked familiar to him. It was possible that he had seen them before, but all of the faces had merged together at some point, making it impossible to distinguish or remember a single one. 

“I think he is ready. He couldn’t protect his mind now if he tried. It’s time to get her.” 

He watched in a haze as the one who had spoken left. The other guard sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “I hope he is right. One more day like this and I think I’ll go as crazy as you.”

Jaskier barely even registered that he was being addressed. The words bounced off him like the rain would off flower petals. He didn’t care. It wasn’t important what the solider had said. The only important thing right now was just… sleep. 

**A year after becoming a family**  


The winter had gone and passed, but they hadn’t left Kaer Morhen. They missed the first spring-dances back in civilisation and they still were confounded in the fortress when the leaves turned from green to brown and then fell from the trees again. 

Geralt and the other witchers trained Ciri relentlessly. She had grown faster and stronger and most importantly more confident. Running the _trail_ was no trouble for her anymore and she leaped from one pole to the other on the _pendulum_ without hesitance. Her initial fear when Lambert had told her she would have to master it even when blindfolded had long since dissipated. Now there was no fear when she used the tool and slashed with her sword against the swinging dummies. 

But no matter how proficient she had gotten with a sword, even after a full year, she was unable to use even the easiest witcher-sign. She had not lost control of her magic again, but she also hadn’t learnt how to access it willingly. 

Yennefer had returned every other month to see how Ciri was faring. Her presence was always welcome and she got along with the other witchers well enough, even though she never exactly saw eye to eye with Lambert. But apart from some minor disagreements, there were no fights between her and the witchers. 

That changed sometime in the middle of their second winter in Kaer Morhen, when Vesemir took her aside and told her about Ciri’s inability to perform magic. He didn’t outright tell her what he wanted her to do, but when he mentioned the abandoned alchemy that was in the cellar, Yennefer lost it. 

“I will not be experimenting on Ciri! Even if I knew how to make the potion that starts the witcher-mutations, I would not do it. I can’t believe you are asking this of me!” 

Her fury turned on anyone who dared to look at her. Except for Jaskier, who had watched the exchange with a smug expression. “I told them it was a stupid idea.” 

Yennefer huffed. “I never thought I’d say that, but it seems like you are the only sensible person around here, Jaskier.” 

Although she stared daggers at every witcher she came across for the next week, she didn’t leave Kaer Morhen. After explaining to Geralt that _sources_ often lacked the ability to access their magic on command, she worked with Ciri to use her emotions in a controlled way. Ciri still couldn’t perform proper magic, but considering the standstill from before, the little she could do now was a huge step for her.  
Geralt’s heart swelled when he saw Yennefer hug Ciri and tell her how proud she was of her. 

Later that day, when Ciri had taken a break from training and instead was getting her now longer hair braided by Jaskier who told her stories about his and Geralt’s adventures, Geralt finally told Yennefer, what he should have said a long time ago. 

“I was wrong. You are making a wonderful mother.” 

“I know.” She looked over to Ciri, whose braid was now finished and demanded Jaskier turn around so she could try and braid his short hair as well. “And you and Jaskier are making good fathers.” 

When the snow finally thawed, Yennefer left Kaer Morhen again to gather intel about Nilfgaard and their plans for their invasion. 

When she left, so did Geralt, Jaskier and Ciri. They had been at the witchers’s stronghold for too long. 

The witchers had agreed that Ciri needed some real experience. As much as Geralt wanted to keep Ciri sheltered, he knew that it wouldn’t do her any good to stay looked away in Kaer Mohen and only ever be surrounded by the same faces forever. She wasn’t a child anymore and she was brimming with restless energy to go out into the world.  
Jaskier and Geralt too had been itching to go out again. None of them were used to staying in one place for that long. 

They had been well aware of the risk of being on the road again, but it still came as a shock to Geralt when he saw just how many people had been forced to leave their homes behind to escape from the Nilfgaardians who had taken over even more of the continent. 

They came across whole towns that had been burned to the ground by the black army. Geralt had to rid these places that had been witness to massacres of Necrophages who feasted on the ones who hadn’t gotten to flee, more than once.  
Ciri helped him each time, but the look on her face broke Geralt’s heart. It was as if she wished it wasn’t the Ghouls and Devourers she sliced though with her sword. 

She became quieter and Geralt could feel the confidence she had just gained in Kaer Morhen shrink with each time they heard frightened rumours about the advancing Nilfgaardian army. 

Jaskier - the only one of them, who people didn’t look at and immediately saw as a threat - took to talking to the people that had been able to witness a Nilfgaardian raid and survive it, whenever they came across someone who wasn’t too frightened to talk.  
Apparently, Nilfgaard was still looking for Ciri. They had lost her trail over a year ago, but that didn’t stop them from raiding the land in search for the lost princess, the witcher and bard she had last been seen travelling with. 

Jaskier and Geralt tried to keep this information from Ciri as much as possible, but they both knew it was without avail. Ciri was smart and old enough to know the wasn’t safe from the people who had destroyed her life.

But it had taken Geralt almost a month until he realized that her fading self-assurance was not the only effect the news and remains of Nilfgaard’s brutal campaign had on Ciri. 

They found a cave in the forest where Geralt and Ciri had been hunting. Geralt lit a fire with Agni while Jaskier laid out their bed rolls close to it.  
There was no need for a night watch. The cave was so well hidden and far away from civilization that no human would stumble across them and Geralt’s sleep was light enough to hear and feel any monsters approaching. He would wake at the smallest sound of anyone or anything sneaking up on them.

That also meant that he was awakened by the tossing and turning on the other side of the fire that had burned down to only a weak glimmer. The tossing stopped and he heard a frustrated grunt. 

“Ciri?,” he whispered into the dark. 

He saw her wince. “Sorry, did I wake you?” 

“It’s fine.” 

She turned to him and Geralt saw that it was far from fine. Thanks to his mutated eyes he could see the dried up tears that had rolled down her cheeks. Immediately he went over to her and took her in his arms. 

“What is wrong?”

“Nothing.” She pulled away and tried to subtly wipe away the evidence of her lie. “I just have trouble sleeping sometimes, that’s all.”

Geralt’s brows drew together, but stayed quiet, letting her be the one to choose the pace in which she was comfortable sharing what bothered her. It took longer than it ever had, before they had gone to Kaer Morhen. 

Eventually she whispered “The nightmares never really went away. Yennefer tried to teach me to control my emotions and it helped a bit. And in Kaer Morhen, everything had seemed so far away.” The tears started flowing again. “But now the man with the feathers on his helmet is back. And so are the nightmares.” 

Geralt tensed. He had thought the bad dreams had left her long ago. She had stopped coming to him during the night ever since the _dream_ about Jaskier. He had assumed that had been the last time, she had been frightened during the night. Apparently, he had been wrong. 

“You know you can always talk to me about those kinds of things. I am here. You don’t have to face your fears on your own.”

“But I’m a witcher!,” she yelled in frustration and Geralt heard Jaskier stir and change the rhythm of his breathing. Spending a year around tense witchers had rubbed off and made him a light sleeper. But Jaskier stayed where he was and let them have their heart to heart. “And witchers aren’t afraid of anything.”

“You are not a witcher,” Geralt said as gently as he could. “You have trained like one, but you didn’t go through the mutations. And even if you did, it would not have stopped the fear.” 

“But… you are not afraid of anything.” 

If only that was true. “Yes, I am. I am afraid of something happening to you or Jaskier. But that is why I am going to keep you safe. Fear isn’t always a bad thing.” 

He wished he hadn’t just found out about that so late in his life. How often had he tried to repress his emotions, thinking them hindering, when in reality they had pushed him time and time again to protect those he loved. 

Ciri looked away. “I still hate fear. I don’t want it.” She thought for a moment. “But it’s fine, I will just stay awake. I don’t need that much sleep anyway.”

Geralt sighed. Sometimes he wondered if he somehow had more influence on Ciri than he realized. “Of course you do. Even a witcher needs sleep. Didn’t Jaskier ever tell you about the one time I was so desperate to fall asleep that I went looking for a djinn?”

Ciri shook her head and bit her lip. “But if I fall asleep, my nightmares will come back.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say. When he was Ciri’s age, he had been told to just ignore his fears, especially those that preyed on him in his sleep. Hell, he had been through the exact same thing Ciri went through now, when he had hadn’t been able to sleep out of fear for Jaskier. 

Jaskier, who must have caught that Geralt was at a loss for words, sat up and made his way over to Ciri’s other side. He stroked over her hair lightly. 

“Do you want to tell us what happened in your dream? Sometimes dreams feel larger than life when we keep them in.”

Ciri hesitated. “I… I dream about Cintra. It’s burning again and I see grandmother die.” She tried to keep in the sob, but failed. 

“It’s alright, let it out. We’re here for you.” 

“I didn’t see her die, back then, but I dream about it so often. All the different ways in which-“ She couldn’t finish her sentence. Ciri lowered her head and her voice quivered when she went on to a different train of thought. “And now what happened to my home happens to other people. What if it happens to you? I can’t lose you too.”

Jaskier held her at arm’s length. “Look at me, darling.” Geralt knew neither of the two of them could see well enough in the dark to read the other’s expression, but still Ciri looked at Jaskier like he was her lifeline. “What happened to you was horrible. But nothing is going to happen to Geralt and me. That’s why you learned how to fight: To protect yourself and others. And you are doing that already; You have fought actual monsters!”

“But what if the man with the winged helmet is the one monster I can’t fight?”

“Then Geralt will be there for you. He will fight for you and I will get you to safety and stay with you until he comes back.” 

“But that’s not the only nightmare I have. There is this other one. It’s different. Yennefer said it’s because I am a _source_ . I’ve had this _dream_ before.” 

Ciri became silent and her expression changed. There was a different kind of fear in them now, not the kind that came with bad memories, but one that stole your breath for fear that no matter what you did in the future, it would be wrong. She broke her gaze from Jaskier and looked at Geralt helplessly. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He had seen that exact look before. 

“It’s the vision about Jaskier and the Nilfgaardian knight, isn’t it?,” Geralt asked with a tight throat.

Ciri nodded. “I thought it would stop. We had found him! Jaskier was safe! But now the _dream_ is back and I don’t know what to do.” 

Jaskier closed the gap between them again. “You don’t have to do anything. You have done everything right. You have brought me back to Geralt and I am safe. We all are and Geralt is going to keep it that way.” 

Geralt heart clenched at Jaskier’s total conviction that he would be there for them. Jaskier held such unconditional trust in him. Trust, he once had thought lost forever. Geralt swore to himself that he would do whatever he had to, to keep his family protected forever. 

Jaskier’s words seemed to convince Ciri. She gave him a watery smile, that faltered when Jaskier said “Do you think you can go back to sleep?” She shook her head. “Alright then, I will tell you a secret. You have to promise not to tell anyone.” Ciri looked at him with big eyes and nodded hesitantly. “I once met a Mermaid. She was beautiful and had the most wonderful voice I have ever heard.”

“Even better than yours?”

Jaskier smiled. “I have to admit it was far better than mine. Believe it or not, but she taught me a lot about music that day. Not many people have the privilege to hear a Siren’s song like I did.” 

If by that Jaskier meant that he heard it and survived, he was correct.  
Years ago, the way Jaskier interchanged ‘Mermaid’ and ‘Siren’ would have had Geralt rolling his eyes, but now it stirred something in him. Despite the inaccuracies, this wasn’t just one of Jaskier’s made up tales of fantastical creatures. He actually had met a Siren before. Or rather, he had been forced to listen to her song, had almost lost his own voice to her!  
It had been so long ago, but Jaskier had not shared much about his experience with Geralt. After the day, he had been looked in with her, he had barely ever mentioned it again. 

“She sang that song to help her feel better. Now, I am no Siren, but after I met her, I wrote a song like this too. It keeps bad dreams away. Shall we see if it works?” 

Slowly, Ciri laid back down again. Jaskier pulled the blanket over her.

“What when you stop singing and the nightmares come back?,” Ciri said as she snuggled into the blanket.

“I won’t stop then.” 

“You can’t stay up the whole night just because of me!”

“Then I am sure that Geralt will notice if you are having another nightmare and wake you up. And I can sing to you again.”

He went to get his lute. Even in the darkness, his fingers found their places without fault. The melody was sweet and soothing. 

Geralt listened, unable to look away from Jaskier, as he began to sing. His voice rang out clear through the cave and although the song had no similarity to a Siren’s call as Jaskier claimed, its effect was similar. It lulled Ciri into a peaceful sleep almost instantly. 

“I sing to you ‘come rest your head.  
Forget your woes and your mistakes.’“

It was as if the melody awakened a long forgotten memory in Geralt. Had Jaskier played it before? He couldn’t imagine where. Geralt had no understanding of music, but even _he_ felt that this lullaby wasn’t meant to be performed for a room full of strangers. This was a song you couldn’t buy, it was earned. 

Jaskier’s singing stopped, though his fingers still coaxed the notes from his lute.

“You should go to sleep as well, dearest. Don’t worry. Ciri is safe with me. I’ll watch over her and sing the bad memories away.” 

Geralt didn’t answer. It felt as though he would break something if he let his voice mingle with Jaskier’s. But he did go back to his bed-roll. He didn’t sleep immediately; he wanted to take in as much of this moment as he could. He was sure Jaskier wouldn’t play this song frivolously.  
He let his eyes drift shut as Jaskier’s voice picked up the melody again. 

“Dream up a kind and bright new life  
And listen, dearest, to my song.”

And all of the sudden, he knew. He truly had heard this melody before. It was the same song Jaskier had said was to personal to him to share with an audience. It was the song Jaskier had sang to him, when Geralt had suffered nightmares after the Doppler. 

How many nights had Jaskier sung it to him, easing his fear, without Geralt knowing? 

Sleep threatened to overtake him, but he forced himself to stay awake to hear all of the words that he had never heard before and that meant so much to him now. He knew he would keep them in his heart and treasure Jaskier’s trust that allowed him to witness this song.  
The song repeated again and slowly Geralt fell asleep, cradled by Jaskier’s music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter became so short. Thank you for reading and your wonderful support!


	13. Behind Your Memory

**Behind Your Memory**

The remaining guard must have tolerated Jaskier’s blackout for longer than usual. Though it felt as if he had closed his eyes for only a second, when he opened them again he was staring straight into the face of a stranger. He flinched back violently. The woman’s lips twitched slightly. Despite his best efforts to get away from the woman in the long blue-grey robes, she was still far too close for comfort.  
Jaskier wanted to say something, anything to ease the tension, but his tongue was too heavy and his mind too sluggish. He watched her wearily as she studied his face intently. 

“How long has he been like this?” Her voice was levelled and she didn’t betray any emotion. 

This must be the ‘her’ the guard had left to bring here, but her presence was far too commanding and confident to be the subordinate of a mere soldier. There was no way she would come at the beck and call of a guard. But that only meant… 

Hesitatingly Jaskier lifted his eyes off her. They immediately fell on Cahir. This was bad. Two Nilfgaardians who both gave of an air of superiority and complete disregard for Jaskier’s health and safety.

Jaskier didn’t hear Cahir’s answer. He was too busy panicking about what that scary lady was going to do to him.  
As inconspicuously as possible, he let his eyes roam around the room. He didn’t spy any gruesome looking torture device, but that didn’t have to mean anything. He thought of the guard’s parting words. He wouldn’t be able to ‘protect his mind’. What the hell were they going to do to his mind?

The woman looked at Cahir with barely concealed contempt.  
“You should have brought me here sooner. Hiring a Doppler again, after what had happened last time! What were you thinking?”

Cahir’s jaw worked tensely before he answered. “It would have worked. They would have seen the bard’s memories, had he not hurt his head and lost his memories temporarily.”

“And whose fault is that?” She left time for a reply, but none came. “Is he better now? My magic is strong enough to see past memory loss caused by concussions, but I still need to be prepared for it.” 

Magic? Oh no. Nononono. Nothing good ever came of magic. There was a reason why Jaskier had made a point of avoiding sorcerers all these years. But of course they would bring a magic-wielder here. He was already robbed off everything that made him who he was, so why not go the extra mile and set a fucking sorceress on him too?

“I believe he is. He called out for the witcher in his sleep, so his memory of him must have returned. I am not sure by now whether he actively knows where the witcher and the child of destiny are, but he might have something hidden in his subconscious.”

“If he does, I will find it. You are sure that his mind is unguarded?”

Cahir let out a sharp laugh. “Look at him, Fringilla. He can barely hold himself up. He was sick and hasn’t slept in days. If his defences are strong enough to keep you out, then Nilfgaard has chosen the wrong sorceress.”

The look she fixed him with was laden with cold fury. “I am not the knight who wasted precious time playing with a prisoner before consulting someone who actually knows what they are doing.” 

Without giving Cahir a change to justify himself, she turned her attention back to Jaskier and gripped Jaskier’s face.  
Cold sweat ran down his spine and he felt as though he didn’t get enough air. He tried to turn his face away, but was held still by her fingers pressing into his cheeks firmly while she stared into his eyes as if searching for something. Apparently she had found it. 

“He is ready.” 

No, whatever it was she was going to do to him, he wasn’t ready! He started thrashing about, pushing her away, but it was all for naught. 

“Shhh, stop fighting it. It’s just like going to sleep.” No, he couldn’t give in. He couldn’t…stop. “Let’s see what you are hiding in there.” 

A word in a foreign language was whispered in a low voice that carried more power than any human should ever be allowed to possess. 

His resolve crumbled. He knew he had failed. His mind lay bare before the mage. She would be able to see his most intimate thoughts and there was nothing he could do as she invaded his mind and searched through his memories. 

**The last day of their friendship**

“Jaskier, take Ciri and get out of here!”

Geralt’s shout was almost drowned out by the yelling of the Nilfgaardian soldiers. Weapons clashed together. Geralt gritted his teeth. The soldiers were no match for a witcher, but they were far superior in number. He pushed another attacker back and sliced through him. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a violet flash and ten of the soldiers that had been charging towards him were flung through the air. 

“How did they find us?,” Yennefer yelled as she fend back the attackers.

That was a damn good question. For months now, he, Jaskier and Ciri had tried their best to keep hidden, only letting Yennefer know where they were going so she could help them out when needed. But no matter how far they ran, even with Yennefer’s help they were found by the Nilfgaardians almost every other day anew. 

“Geralt, behind you!” 

Jaskier’s warning came just at the right moment. Geralt whirled around and plunged his sword deep into the man’s chest that had just raised his own sword to split Geralt’s head. 

Geralt looked back up. Jaskier was half running towards him, gripping the dagger Geralt had given him when they had seen the enemy approaching, tightly and doing his best to keep the Nilfgaardians away from him and Ciri, who slashed and stabbed far better with her own weapon than Jaskier could. It was clear who was really protecting whom. 

Geralt focussed on the fight at hand. The numbers of their attackers had already become smaller, but they didn’t relent. A force burst out of Geralt’s outstretched hand and crashed against the soldier’s, sending them flying. Had he not been exhausted from the past weeks of incessant running and fighting, constantly looking out for the others, this fight would have probably not even drawn sweat. But as it was, he was panting as he cut through the man who were hell-bent on taking Ciri away from him, uncaring if it be at the cost of the lives of the others. 

He heard a scream that made his blood run cold. He whirled around. His eyes widened. Jaskier was being dragged away, bleeding from a wound on his arm. He had lost his dagger and was trashing about in his attacker’s grip. 

“No!,” Geralt breathed. He ripped himself out of his stupor and ran towards Jaskier, who still struggled in vain as the two soldiers holding him, carried him off. 

But Geralt’s path was blocked. He had to give up on his chase to evade the swords that came for his head. He couldn’t let himself get held up! He had to help Jaskier! 

Another flash and a cry as Yennefer’s magic snapped the necks of Jaskier’s attackers. He was pulled to the ground too, as the men who had held him fell limply to the floor. 

Geralt finally managed to finish off the soldiers that had been keeping him from Jaskier. He grabbed his friend by the uninjured arm and pulled him up, before pushing him out of the way to parry another attack. 

“I told you to get away!,” he growled. “We can handle this, just get yourself and Ciri to safety!” 

He saw Jaskier hesitate, but then he ran to Ciri who was still holding her ground. Geralt watched out of the corner of his eye as they both made their way to where Roach had run off to, Ciri occasionally blocking off attacks.  
Geralt’s breathing only calmed once they were out of sight and he heard the unmistakable clatter of Roache’s galloping hooves. 

Now that he and Yennefer didn’t have to constantly keep an eye on Jaskier, the fight was easily won. He could use his signs more without risking hitting Jaskier or Ciri accidently. 

Yennefer also used more wide-range attacks. Her magic surged through the earth on which the Nilfgaardians were standing. The ground shook and burst open, grinding their enemies as they were crushed by the earth under their feet that was tearing itself apart. 

Geralt and Yennefer exchanged looks, while trying to catch their breaths. They didn’t wait for the last death cries had fallen silent, before they took off to find their companions. 

They found Jaskier and Ciri waiting nervously for their return at the hide-out they had agreed on. They sat beneath an overhanging rock that was easy to miss for someone who didn’t know the place existed fiddling with their hands and throwing nervous glances around. Jaskier sprung up and when he saw them approach. 

“Geralt!” 

“What were you thinking, Jaskier?,” Geralt raked his hands through his hair in a rare show of frustration. “I told you to stay away from the fight. I told you to run.”

Jaskier hunched up. “I only wanted to be useful.”

“You put yourself in danger! This wasn’t the first time they targeted you. They know you are the weakest link in a fight, so they will always come for you.” Geralt’s voice softened. “I can’t let that happen. Promise me that when I tell you to leave us and make sure you are safe you will do it.”

Jaskier’s eyes darted to Yennefert for a second, before he lowered his head. “I promise. I won’t be the reason any of you are in danger, anymore.” 

Yennefer stopped looking over Ciri for injuries and interrupted them. “You still have time to think about it, Jaskier. For now, we have to make sure we are more careful than before. Nilfgaard has its spies everywhere. We can’t risk leaving any tracks behind.”

Geralt nodded grimly. “Yennefer, can you make your magic defences stronger?”

“Not so soon after a fight.” Her power was only enough to create a shield around them allowing no sound to reach outside of it. “I am still working on creating a spell to make it impossible to find us, but I haven’t figured it out yet. It will take more time.”

Jaskier looked at her strangely. “If there is one thing we do not have, it’s time. We can’t keep going like this.” 

“Jaskier…” She didn’t finish her thought, but looked away instead when she saw Jaskier’s determined stare. 

Geralt’s shoulders slumped. “You are right. But I don’t know how. If you have any ideas how we can ensure Ciri is safe, please do say so.”

Jaskier looked like he was about to answer, but decided against it. “Let’s just rest for now and try to make the best of today.”

And Jaskier really tried. After Yennefer had dressed the wound on his arm, he sat down next to Geralt and stayed close to him, while he was cleaning his sword, watching him as he worked. Jaskier’s presence calmed Geralt considerably. The pent-up frustration and fear from the fight slowly left him, as Jaskier talked about anything that came to mind. It was almost like it had been years ago. A small smile tugged at Geralt’s lips, as Jaskier recounted one of the many things they had gone through together.

Around midday, Jaskier practically pleaded with him to let him cook something warm.  
“I am sick of always eating dried up meat and bread.”

“You didn’t have a problem with that the past weeks.”

Jaskeir put his hands on his hips. “Well today, I do. I want to have a real meal.” His tone softened. “It’s been too long, since we sat together and actually enjoyed a meal, like we used to before all of this happened.” In a more chipper voice he added “Also, I’ve been carrying around that little pot for weeks now and I refuse to have done that for nothing.”

The happy voice and bright smile fooled no one. Geralt knew Jaskier too well to not notice the forlorn look in his eyes. It tugged at Geralt’s heart uncomfortably. 

“I guess you’ll need some fresh meat then.”

Jaskier beamed at him, as Geralt left to hunt. He was careful, scurrying the area, before looking for any wild animal that would make a good meal for them. He made sure no Nilfgaardians were anywhere near them. He couldn’t risk the cooking fire attracting any unwanted attention.  
But the soldiers who had attacked them earlier must have been the only party posted anywhere close. 

When he came back with the two rabbits he had caught, Jaskier was talking to Yennefer, looking serious. Yennefer noticed Geralt first and cleared her throat pointedly. Jaskier turned to him and smiled when he saw what Geralt had brought. Geralt handed him the rabbits and lit a fire for him. 

Jaskier put extra effort into preparing the food, while Ciri helped him. Or rather, she waited until Jaskier instructed her on what to do. 

“Look, Ciri, you have to be careful with the salt. We don’t have much left, but if you don’t put in any, it’s going to taste really bland. Not too much though. And could you hand me some of that thyme?”

While Jaskier was stirring the meat in the pot, he had sent Yennefer off to find him some herbs. She had rolled her eyes but obliged without complaining.

Geralt walked over to them and looked at the stew boiling over the fire. 

“Since when do you like thyme?”

“I don’t particularly,” Jaskier said in a perky tone. “But I you once said that you like it. Oh- would you mind stirring this for a bit, dearest? I think I saw some mushrooms when we got here, I’ll see, if they are edible. Yennefer, can you help?”

Geralt watched them go. A warm feeling settled in his chest. He knew that Jaskier didn’t really need anyone’s help preparing a meal. But somehow seeing everyone involved in it felt strangely domestic. It was like he was allowed a glimpse into another life, one in which they were allowed to be a normal family, cooking together without having to always be on the run from enemies. 

They didn’t eat in tense silence that day, not like they had gotten used to do. Jaskier entertained Ciri and Yennefer with the story how he had once sent Geralt a fillingless pie out of revenge. Geralt smiled almost unnoticeably, when he heard the others laugh at the story. 

Geralt had expected everything to go back to the normal routine of everyone being tense, after the meal, but Jaskier foiled that. He took out his lute and began playing some merry tune.  
When Gerallt caught his eye, he gave Jaskier a smile. He hoped it conveyed how thankful he was. They hadn’t allowed themselves to let go of their tension in so long. Jaskier beamed back at him while Ciri took Yennefer’s hand and danced with her to the tune. 

When the song was done, Jaskier waved over at Ciri. 

“Do you want to try now?” 

He held the lute out for her invitingly. Ciri hesitated, but took the instrument from him.  
It felt like it had been so long ago, when Jaskier had joined Ciri and Geralt and decided to teach Ciri how to play. She would never be as good as a bard and she rarely ever practiced, but she had always enjoyed Jaskier’s lessons. 

She struggled a bit with finding the right places for her fingers at first, but she kept on playing. 

Jaskier held out his hand to Geralt expectantly. Geralt stared at it, confused. Jaskier rolled his eyes, but kept smiling. 

“Come on, it’s our turn to dance!”

Geralt’s throat went dry. “I don’t dance.”

“Then you should start now.” 

Jaskier grabbed his hand and pulled him up. Geralt didn’t put up any resistance. He did his best to follow Jaskier’s movements, but it was a fast dance and he tripped over his own feet more often than he would like to admit. It didn’t seem to bother Jaskier though; he smiled and whispered “Don’t worry, you are the best dance-partner I could ask for.” 

It was an exaggeration, of course. Geralt had seen Jaskier dance with far better partners. Geralt had always declined Jaskier’s invitations to come join the dances, but now, as he twirled Jaskier clumsily only to be pulled close by him again, he wished he hadn’t. 

But somehow this stumbling dance they shared in the middle of running from a relentless enemy, to a song that was played falteringly and had some dissonant chords where their daughter missed a note, was more precious to Geralt than any fancy ball could ever have been. The song ended far too quickly. His hands lingered on Jaskier for a little too long, while Jaskier looked up at him. 

“Thank you,” Geralt said thickly. The words weren’t even nearly enough to express what he really meant. 

“No. Thank you, dearest.” Jaskier turned away and Geralt found himself missing his warmth. “And you were doing wonderfully, Ciri! It seems I taught you everything I know.” 

There was something bittersweet in the way Jaskier said it. 

The mood calmed down after that, but it was more serene than tense.  
After sending Jaskier a long look, Yennefer took Ciri and went outside of the overhand and a bit away under the guise of practicing magic, but Geralt had the feeling that she was trying to give them some privacy. 

“Should I take a look on your wound again?,” he asked awkwardly. 

Jaskier rolled up his sleeve to expose the skin where he had been stabbed. The only thing that was left of the wound was a reddening of his skin. 

“Don’t tell Yennefer I said that, but she’s really good at what she does.” He smirked. “Though I think she sometimes overshoots. When I asked her to look for some herbs, I didn’t expect her to bring quite so much. There are so many left-overs!” 

Jaskier lifted up a stem of rosemary with a blue blossom at the end. He contemplated it for a second, before cupping Geralt’s face with one hand and tucking the herb behind Geralt’s ear. 

“There, now it doesn’t go to waste.”

There was a fondness in the way Jaskier looked at him, that made it hard to breath. The hand still resting on his cheek was light as a feather and his thumb stroked over his skin gently, leaving a pleasant prickling sensation, when he took his hand back. 

When Geralt found his voice again, he said “Thank you for today. It was nice.”

Jaskier smiled. “I’m just trying to enjoy the moment. We never know how long it will last.”

His expression shifted into something Geralt couldn’t name. Geralt held his gaze for a long moment, before looking away. 

“I hope, this lasts for a while longer.” 

Jaskier didn’t answer, but he sat down close to the fire that was slowly burning out and motioned for Geralt to join him. 

They sat close to each other in silence. Geralt’s breath hitched when Jaskier shifted closer, so that their thighs touched. Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder, as he had done so often in the past months. Every time he did it, Geralt’s the small glimmer of hope in Geralt’s chest became a bit brighter.  
“Can you tell me something?,” Jaskier asked eventually.

“What?”

“I don’t know. Something. Anything. Tell me about a monster you hunted before I met you. Tell me about all the mischief you and Eskel got up to when you were younger. Just… I would like to hear your voice.”

Geralt remained silent for a moment. He had never been good at sharing stories. Not even close to how good Jaskier was. But Jaskier had sounded so earnest and almost longing.  
Geralt didn’t know what to talk about. It was as if suddenly his mind had gone blank. He wished he’d have Jaskier’s talent for telling stories. He cleared his throat nervously. 

“I could tell you about how I was approached by a reckless bard in a tavern once who asked to accompany me on an adventure.”

Jaskier hummed and closed his eyes. “That sounds like the beginning of a lovely tale.” Geralt could hear the smile in his voice. “I think I would like to hear it.” 

So Geralt told Jaskier a story he already knew by heart. He half-expected Jaskier to interrupt him, telling him that that was not how one should tell a story, that there should be more metaphors and symbolism, but his lark remained quiet throughout it all, soaking up every word. 

When Geralt was done, the silence that befell them was laden with doubts. In comparison to now, life had been so easy back then. The hunt for the devil had been the first time he had watched out for Jaskier.  
Since then, the number of people he cared for and had to protect had increased and so had the dangers that loomed over them. 

For how long would they be able to run from them? They were already doing their best and yet they still got found by their foes again and again. Jaskier must have dwelled on similar thoughts, for he broke the silence first. 

“I know a way to keep everyone a bit safer.” 

He didn’t elaborate, but he lifted his head from Geralt’s shoulder. Maybe he was self-conscious about his idea. Jaskier was neither a strategist nor experienced in any form of battle. He rarely ever gave input on what they should be doing, where they should go. 

“Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than having no ideas and I am at the end of my wits,” Geralt said, hoping it would encourage Jaskier.

Jaskier’s hesitation lasted only for one heartbeat. His voice was toneless but sure. “Get rid of me.”

It was so absurd, so obviously a bad joke, that Geralt let out a laugh. It quickly died down, when his eyes fell on Jaskier’s expression. He was dead serious. 

“No. Whatever made you think that would be a good idea, it is not. Leaving you behind is not an option.” 

Jaskier moved a bit away from him and looked at him more sternly. “Think about it, Geralt. I can barely fight. I don’t have magic. I am a liability.”

Geralt stood up fiercely. He could barely control his voice. “No! I am not going to just abandon part of my family!” 

Jaskier’s voice was soft and he looked at him like one would a wounded animal when one decided it would be kinder to kill it. 

“But if you keep me with you, you will lose the rest of your family. If we continue like this, it is only a matter of time before one of you gets hurt because of me.” His voice cracked and he had to take a deep breath before he could continue. “You saw what happened today. It’s no coincidence they always go after me. You said it yourself: I am the weakest link. They know that I’m the easiest to capture. I was lucky today that Yennefer managed to safe me. But one of these days I am not going to be so lucky. Eventually they will be able to capture me and use me as bait or interrogate me about out plans. Don’t look at me like that. We both know they will.”

Geralt looked down on Jaskier who seemed so defenceless as he sat on the ground, head tilted back to be able to look into Geralt’s eyes.

“It won’t,” Geralt growled. “Not as long as I am here to watch over you.”

“That’s exactly the point!” Jaskier was almost yelling. He sprang up as well. “You shouldn’t have to keep an eye on me while fighting! And neither should Yen. You have to look after yourselves and Ciri. I am not as important as her. And I am endangering all of you, by just being there.”

Geralt’s voice was dangerously low. It sounded almost animalistic. “Don’t you ever dare say that you are not important. And have you thought about the fact that by being on your own, you would be endangering yourself? That’s the entire reason why we came to get you in the first place! Because Ciri’s visions warned us about what would happen to you if you were on your own!”

“But what if they weren’t a warning? Nothing we have done up until now prevented the visions from coming true. Hell, if anything it had let me to be targeted by Nilfgaard in the first place!”

It was like a punch in the face. How often had Geralt told himself that Jaskier was in more danger by staying by his side? This was only one more instance on a long list of times Geralt had been the reason Jaskier wasn’t safe. 

Jaskier continued. “Maybe it’s inevitable. We can’t change destiny.”

“So you just give up? Fuck destiny! We will find a way to keep it from happening.”

“But what if the visions aren’t meant to tell us what to avoid? What if instead they give us a chance to prepare and make the best of it? I will get captured eventually. I can stay with you and we can run. One more week. One month. Maybe even a year. But sooner or later, they will get me to get to you and Ciri. Maybe the only thing we can change, is how much damage it will do to you, when it finally happens. If I leave now and you go somewhere else, somewhere I don’t know about, I won’t be able to tell them anything if they ask me.” His lip trembled, the fear clear in his eyes. “I am scared, Geralt. I’ve never been tortured before. I don’t want to betray you. Heavens know it is the last thing I want. But I can’t say for sure that I’ll be strong enough to not betray you when it comes to it. I don’t know, if I’ll be able to make the right choice then. So I make it now. I will split with you and divert Nilfgaard’s attention from you. Maybe I can distract them for long enough that Yennefer can figure out that spell she’s been working on.” 

“Have you lost your mind?” With every one of Jaskier’s words, Geralt’s anger had flared up more. Jaskier wasn’t right! He couldn’t be! “Do you even hear yourself talking? If we leave you, they are going to get you for sure, whether you actively try to divert them or not. And what then? Even if you don’t have any information about where we’d be going next, you’d still know us well enough to give them information. You know about Kaer Morhen. You know about how much farther Ciri had gotten with her magic. You know about the spell Yennefer is trying to prepare. You leaving now with what you know will endanger Ciri even more.”

And how was Geralt supposed to go on, knowing that he had let Jaskier go? That he wasn’t there to protect him anymore? That he had failed him once again.

Jaskier didn’t move and Geralt knew he wouldn’t give in, no matter what Geralt said. 

“Do you truly believe I didn’t think of that?,” Jaskier said lowly. “This isn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. If I thought there was a better option, I would gladly take it. But I don’t see one. And I’ve already been putting this off for weeks now.” His eyes softened and Geralt could see the hint of tears brimming in them. “You are right. It would be no good just leaving me here just like that. I still know too much. That’s why I’ve spoken to Yennefer about this.”

Geralt shrunk back as if Jaskier had hit him. “Yennefer knows about this? And she has agreed to this suicide mission? For how long had she known?”

“For as long as I’ve known that I’m putting this family at risk. From the day we had planned leaving Kaer Morhen, I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but somewhere in my heart I had always known this it was a possibility.” He swallowed and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt nervously. “Gathering intel about Nilfgaard wasn’t the only thing Yennefer did when she parted from us back then. She has been working on a spell. It took her months until she was sure it would work. And believe me – please, you have to believe me – I’m only doing this as a last option.”

“What does the spell do?”

Gerlat’s mouth went dry. He didn’t want to know. Whatever it was Jaskier was going to say next, he did not want to hear it. But he had to. He had to know, so he could make Jaskier understand that it was insane and that Geralt would never allow it.

Jaskier’s voice was strangled when he finally answered. “It can wipe all of the memories I have of you. I will forget I ever met you. I won’t know about Ciri or anything we have been through together. My memories will be replaced by new ones and no matter what Nilfgaard will do to me, I will not be able to betray you.” 

Jaskier wanted to forget him? He wanted to just throw away decades of friendship; of being there for each other? Those memories that were so precious to Geralt would not be shared anymore?  
He could not lose his friend who had stood by him. Who, no matter what Geralt did, didn’t see him as a monster. The man he loved more than anything and that he had sworn he would protect with his life. Jaskier had always trusted him to keep his promise. So why didn’t he want to let him keep it?

“I won’t let you take that spell.” 

“I’m not asking for permission. And you cannot persuade me to not do it. I’ve made up my mind a long time ago. And I’ve made my peace with it.” The tremble in Jaskier’s voice told a different story. He was terrified and it broke Geralt’s heart. “The spell has been prepared for weeks and Yennefer knows that it is time. She is on my side in this. Your and Ciri’s safety is more important than mine. If you try to stop me, she will fight you. I will take the spell and it will be today. I know there is nothing else I can do to protect you. And deep down you know it too. So please let me have this.”

Geralt’s fists clenched. He didn’t want to believe it. But a tiny voice somewhere in the back of his mind began whispering those hated truths he would do anything to banish from his mind. 

“Then why are you telling me, if you plan to do it anyway?”

If you plan to break my heart and refuse to let me fight for you.

“To say goodbye. And because I hoped you would understand.”

Geralt moved closer to Jaskier and took him by the shoulders. “And I hope that you understand something as well. Even if you take the spell; even if you forget and can’t tell Nilfgaard anything about us, the second I hear that you are in danger, I will come for you. Don’t think even for a moment that I wouldn’t.”

It was finally too much for Jaskier. He still stood upright, holding Geralt’s stare without wavering. But Geralt saw him break. A tear slowly ran down his cheek and Geralt wiped it away with his thumb. 

“I will always come for you, Jaskier.” 

“I know,” Jaskier whispered. Louder he repeated “I know. That’s why I’m asking you to take the spell as well. Forget about ever meeting me.” 

Geralt let go of Jaskier’s shoulders as if they had burned him. He backed away from Jaskier, staring at him in utter shock and horror. But Jaskier took a step forward and seized his hand. 

“Don’t you see, dearest?” He gave him a watery smile. “If you don’t remember me, you won’t come for me and I will be able to save you. Like you have saved me so many times.”

But he already had. Jaskier had saved him with every smile, with every time his eyes brightened and with every song he shared with him. How could Geralt forget about any of that?  
No. He wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t. Forgetting Jaskier would be like forgetting how to breathe. It would kill him. 

“Don’t. Don’t ask this of me.”

He wanted to take his hand back. How could Jaskier keep holding onto it, caressing is with his thumb comfortingly, when he was plunging the knife deeper into Geralt’s chest with every word. 

“We have to do this,” Jaskier said gently. “It’s the lesser evil.”

“I told you a long time ago I don’t choose between the lesser and greater evil. Back then you agreed with me. You were the one who told me to not risk my own life on the off-chance of helping others. You said sacrificing myself was the greatest evil and you wouldn’t choose it. And neither will I, now.”

“But what about the lesser and greater good?” Jaskier pressed Geralt’s hand against his heart. It beat in a steady and slow rhythm. Jaskier was not afraid anymore. For him, this wasn’t a decision to be nervous about. How could he be so calm when Geralt’s heart felt as if it would burst? “You are my greatest good, Geralt. You and Ciri and this beautiful family we have - hell, even Yennefer. And I am choosing to save it. Even if that means it will be lost to me.”

It wasn’t fair. Making him choose between what part of his family to keep safe, it wasn’t fair. It was impossible.  
And yet, it seemed like the choice was so easy for the man who held his heart. 

Geralt had thought it so often; Jaskier would have been better off, if he had never met him. Jaskier was carrying more dark memories with him than any man should and all because he knew Geralt. Maybe…maybe this was Jaskier’s chance at the life he had always deserved.  
If he lived like any other person would, he would still have to face the dangers of the war, but maybe he could flee with everyone else. Find a new family and escape Nilfgaard. 

Was this not kinder than keeping Jaskier with him against his will, always in the middle of a fight and thinking it would one day be his fault that his family got hurt? Jaskier seemed to have found the answer for himself.  
Geralt couldn’t choose between two evils. But maybe it wasn’t his choice to make in the first place. 

Jaskier must have seen the realization in his eyes. He dropped Geralt’s hand from his chest, but still held it in his.  
Geralt didn’t put up any resistance when Jaskier lead him away from their camp, only stopping to pick up his lute and sling it over his shoulder. 

He guided Geralt to where they could see the sky being coloured red by the setting sun.  
Jaskier looked at it without saying anything. The light got caught in the tears that streamed down his face. Geralt couldn’t avert his eves. He heard the footsteps approaching, but didn’t look. He couldn’t face Yennefer. Not now that he knew what she was going to do. 

Jaskier’s gaze still didn’t waver from the setting sun. “Yennefer has agreed to make a portal for me, so I won’t be anywhere near you when I wake up with my new memories.” He smiled shakily and finally turned his eyes on Geralt. “It’s finally time for me to see the coast. Don’t come after me, dearest. Take the spell. Don’t let my sacrifice be for naught.” 

“I promise I will keep everyone safe, my little lark.”

“Thank you.” 

Jaskier’s smile broke with a sob and he had to avert his gaze. He slowly let go of Geralt’s hand, forever. He made a small move, like he wanted to leave, but hesitated. Without looking at Geralt, he spoke again. 

“There is something I have been meaning to tell you for years. And if there has ever been a time to tell you; a time to get rejected, I think it is now. So at least the heartbreak won’t last long. The one thing I will be glad to forget.” He faced Geralt again. “And perhaps that will make parting easier for you too. I doubt you would want to have anything to do with me afterwards anyway.” He leaned forward. He was so close that Geralt could feel his breath against his lips. “I know you asked me not to say those words ever again. I am sorry, but I don’t want to leave this life behind without having told you.”

Jaskier closed the unbearable gap between them and gently pressed his lips against Geralt’s.  
The kiss was shy and sweet and heart-breaking and it was over far too quickly.  
Geralt wanted to do a million things. Kiss him back. Run his hands through Jaskier’s hair. Holding him closer and never let him go, because how was Geralt supposed to, after this? 

But Jaskier pulled away, before he had the chance to do any of these things.

“I love you, Geralt.” 

Jaskier didn’t leave him time to react. He drew back and walked towards Yennefer who was still standing to the side watching them, one arm slung around Ciri’s shoulders. Off to leave his memory behind. 

“Jaskier, wait,” Geralt called after him. 

Jaskier halted, but didn’t turn around, as if he was afraid looking at Geralt would change his mind. 

“Don’t. Don’t do this to me, my love, please. I…I’d like my last memory of you to be a good one.” 

His last memory. How could he let this be the last memory? How was he supposed to let Jaskier go, now that he had gotten a taste of what he had not dared to hope for. 

He watched as Jaskier walked over to Ciri and kissed her on the head. They didn’t talk, but Geralt knew that Ciri understood. Her shoulders were shaking with her sobs as she pulled away from Yennefer to fling herself at Jaskier, pressing her face against his chest. Jaskier stroked her hair and Geralt could see him tremble as well. 

When they finally parted, Jaskier gently wiped Ciri’s tears off her face, before turning to Yennefer and nodding at her. The sorceress held out her hand and a portal appeared. She didn’t go in first. She gave Jaskier one last chance to change his mind. A chance, Jaskier didn’t take. Without looking back, he walked through. 

Geralt still stared at the place Jaskier had disappeared from, even after Yennefer had followed him and the portal had closed. 

Maybe he’d come back. Maybe when the portal opened up again, Jaskier would walk out and declare that he had changed his mind. 

Geralt waited. Every heartbeat felt like an eternity. Why wasn’t Jaskier back already?  
Geralt had to do something! But there was nothing left to do.  
He should have argued more. He shouldn’t have let Jaskier leave after that kiss, instead of just standing frozen. He should have done _something_! 

He was suddenly brimming with the need to move. He broke free of his motionless stupor. He paced, throwing glances at where the portal had been. He raked his hands through his hair and his fingers got stuck in – 

In the rosemary. It was still there behind his ear, where Jaskier had put it. And at one blow, his energy left him. Almost like in a trance, he took the herb out of his hair and held it out in front of him. He couldn’t look away. Was this to be the last thing he had from Jaskier? This herb and the memory of a kiss that Jaskier had begged him to forget?

A light appeared to his side. His head snapped back up, heart pounding, as the portal reappeared with a gush of wind that ripped Jaskier’s last gift out of his hand and carried it off before he could close his fingers around it. 

Geralt stared at the portal. This was it. Jaskier would come back to him now. 

But he didn’t. 

The portal closed behind Yennefer. She stood there for a moment, looking lost. Then she walked towards Geralt. Yennefer didn’t cry, but her eyes were glistening with tears that would forever remain unshed. 

Geralt became numb. “He’s gone.” 

There was no emotion in his voice. How could there be, when it would never match the emotion that had resonated in every word Jaskier had ever spoken.

Yennefer reached for his hand, but he pulled away. 

“He is,” she agreed and Geralt felt the last piece of hope he had so desperately clutched at, shatter. “His memories are gone. But he has new ones. He is still a bard. He will still play and sing, even if he doesn’t remember his songs about you. He will find new things to sing about. And maybe we will hear it one day. He will be happy. And without us, he might also be safe, at least for a while.” 

Geralt didn’t answer. Nothing he could have said would make a difference now. It was too late. 

Yennefer’s expression softened even more. “It’s not your fault. He made his choice himself. It was the right onefor him.” She hesitated and Geralt’s throat got tight. “Are you ready to make yours?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I put a bit of a weird focus on rosemary. But there is this beautiful quote from Hamlet: "“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember". Also, I had the song "Scarborough Fair" by Simon & Garfunkel stuck in my head and this is the first verse:  
> "Are you going to Scarborough Fair?  
> Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme  
> Remember me to one who lives there  
> She once was a true love of mine."
> 
> Sorry to all the native English-speakers. I know that "taking a spell" is not really an expression. But "voluntarily have someone put a spell on you" just doesn't roll of the tongue in the same way. 
> 
> And a huge thanks and congratulations to all of you for having read this far despite the confusing timelines! I guess now you know why Jaskier's thoughts kind of contradicted Geralt's timeline and it's a bit less frustrating to read. So thank you so much, for putting up with that!


	14. Forget And Start Anew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still blown away by your reactions to the last chapter. Whether you are commenting, giving kudos or simply reading this fic, you mean so much to me and I am thankfull for you!

**Forget And Start Anew**

_“Abort yourself!” The shout was accompanied by bread that was thrown his way instead of coin._

__

_“Ow!”_

__

_Jaskier ducked and held his lute protectively in front of his face. These people really had no sense for art.  
Admittedly, this song was a bit hit or miss and it was always risky to play it if you didn’t know your audience that well. But telling him to abort himself was really out of line! Well, at least he’d have the bread if he wasn’t able to afford a real meal like this._

__

_He scooted off to a corner, hoping to be safe from the disdain of his unappreciative audience.  
His eyes fell on the face of a man brooding in the dark. He hadn’t seen him before, but the stranger didn’t yell at him, so that automatically made him likable. _

__

_Channelling all of his charm, Jaskier swaggered over to the man. The man who had two very sharp looking swords leaning against the wall and the scars that told tales of adventure.  
Jaskier was burning to hear his story. The golden eyes of the man were so prominent that Jaskier could see their extraordinary colour even across the distance that got smaller with every step. These eyes were truly worthy of a song! Maybe he would be allowed to write about the golden-eyed man and his undoubtedly valiant deeds? Or better yet, if he befriended the man, he might get the chance to accompany him on his adventures and experience the heroics first hand! _

__

_He put on his loveliest smile. He was almost at the table._

__

_The white-haired man shot him a look as if he would punch him in the face if he dared to come within a ten feet radius of him. With every step Jaskier made towards him he looked less approachable.  
Without losing his swagger Jaskier made a sharp turn in the opposite direction. As much as he wanted a song, he was not very keen on having his perfect nose broken. Alas, he would get his inspiration from elsewhere, as he was clearly unwanted in this tavern. For now, he would find another inn and try his song again. _

__

__

_Years later, he had finally made it! Well, it might be a slight exaggerated to say he was famous by any means, but he had managed to worm his way into the graces of a noble-lady who had cinched that he was able to perform at princess Pavetta’s betrothal banquet._

__

_He was a bit put out that he wasn’t allowed to sing his new masterpiece of a love-ballad, but the jig he played certainly had the audience captivated and in high spirit.  
Jaskier relished the attention of the people. This was what he was meant to do! He finished his song and made his way back to his muse. _

__

_That is to say, he tried. He hadn’t made it far, before he was grabbed by a man who looked distantly familiar._

__

_“Something about you reminds me of a scoundrel I once saw fleeing my wife’s chambers.”_

__

_Oh shit. Jaskier backed away hastily. This was unfortunate. And by that he meant, he was utterly fucked. And not in the fun way._

__

_He knew he shouldn’t have come here without protection, but he didn’t know anyone who liked him enough to play his bodyguard for the evening. Still he couldn’t have possibly passed the opportunity of playing or a queen._

__

_He sputtered some excuses that the lord obviously didn’t buy._

__

_“Drop your trousers!”_

__

_Hahaha, no.  
As much as Jaskier didn’t mind nudity, he was not about to become known as the bard who showed the royal family of Cintra what he looked like naked. _

__

_“Well, you see, the thing is- OH, what in Melitele’s name is happening over there?” He pointed at something vaguely behind the lord. And would you believe it- the lord didn’t fall for it. Bollocks._

__

_For a lack of anything else to do, Jaskier bolted, followed by the angry shouts of the lord.  
What a shame that he wouldn’t be able to bid his noble muse farewell, but his daring escape didn’t allow for that. After all, this lord was surely not the only person in here who was out for his head. _

__

_Jaskier made it out of the ballroom and leaned against the door frame, catching his breath. He posed himself against it forcibly casual in hopes to look unsuspicious, when he heard the voices of two men approach him._

__

_“Geralt, my friend, I did not expect to see you here! But why are you wearing this dreadful armour, this is no way to dress for a feast.”_

__

_The rough voice that answered was a strange contrast to the exuberant tone of the first man. “Mousesack. I’m not here for the feast. To be honest, I don’t know what I’m here for. Queen Calanthe wanted me to come, but didn’t think it important to tell me why. I don’t suppose you have taken note of any monsters?”_

__

_Jaskier didn’t stick around to hear the answer. He shouldered his lute and made his way out._

__

_It didn’t take long until the news of what he had missed at the feast reached him. A glorious battle, magic and true love.  
Jaskier let out a stream of curses under his breath. There went yet another chance at an epic song! _

__

__

_It went similarly wherever he went. No matter where he was, the white haired witcher, who someone had dubbed the White Wolf would show up too. He would fight some monster or break an ancient curse and Jaskier would always miss the action by chance._

__

_He avoided mages and monsters to the best of his ability. As much as he longed to sing of adventure and heroics, he had no brave muse and he wasn’t reckless enough to risk going on an adventure on his own, so he stuck to other muses, sang songs of love and monsters he made up. They weren’t bad songs per se, but they weren’t exactly special either.  
A bard needed a never-heard-before subject to become famous and he had missed his chance at that years ago, when he had decided to stay away from the scary looking man with the golden eyes. _

__

_Still he couldn’t complain. Despite his premature exit, someone in Queen Calanthe’s court seemed to have taking a liking to Jaskier’s playing.  
He found himself singing in Cintra time and time again. When the new princess was born. Then again, when Princess Cirilla was old enough that he could teach her her first dance. He played her a soothing song when she had nightmares after her parent’s deaths.  
Years later, after Cintra had gone up in flames, he mourned her, when rumours of her death reached him. And he felt hope blossom in his chest, when he heard a contradicting rumour of how she was travelling with a certain witcher. _

__

_Geralt of Rivia. He had come to dislike the name as much as he admired it. Whatever Jaskier did, the witcher always seemed just out of reach. But it was no use regretting his missed chances now. He had made his decision back in Posada. He had not become friends with the witcher, had never even spoken to him._

__

_But sometimes he still wondered how different things might have been, had he only had had the courage to speak to him. Maybe he would have composed songs like the ones he now heard in every tavern. People demanded he sang of the witcher, but he had not written these songs, no matter how many people noted how similar he looked to the bard who did end up as the witcher’s companion.  
He had never met this fortunate bard, hadn’t even heard his name. But he had heard the songs. “When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia….”  
This could have been him. Instead it was some unknown shadow whose songs became famous. _

__

_Sometimes Jaskier found himself strumming these tunes that weren’t his and a strange sense of yearning overcame him, though he didn’t know what it was that he yearned for._

__

__

_His melancholy didn’t last long. He was too busy fleeing from the invading forces of Nilfgaard to wallow in his self-pity. He narrowly escaped them numerous times._

__

_He had been at the coast, hoping for inspiration to strike him, when word got around that the Nilfgaardian army was on their way there. That first attack he had to flee was only one of many. Soon war engulfed the continent like a wild beast, destroying everything in its wake.  
The witcher disappeared and with him any hearsay of the princess’ whereabouts. _

__

_But amidst the chaos and suffering, Jaskier had a revelation. He might have missed his chance of becoming an adventurer, but he still could be heroic in his own small way.  
What was a bard if not a comfort and hope for the people who heard him? What was he supposed to do, if not tell tales that inspired those around him? _

__

_So he sang new songs. He abandoned love and instead composed songs that spoke of staying brave in the face of danger. His songs rallied the spirits of fighters and encouraged them to protect the people. His tales made people endure the hardships of the war._

__

_Sometimes he still thought of Geralt of Rivia, who was out there somewhere, protecting the lost princess who had become a symbol of hope for the bard.  
He might not know the witcher, would probably never really meet him, but if his songs could help him even in some small way, he would sing. _

__

_The witcher’s bard had disappeared during the invasion, had most likely lost his life. Jaskier knew he was a bad replacement for the companion the witcher had lost, but maybe his songs would reach his ears and give him strength and hope despite it all._

__

_There was no glory in what he did. Not like he had imagined when he was younger and dreamed of adventure that would never come.  
All the reward that he got was a blindfold over his eyes and bonds so tight that they cut into his wrists as he was dragged off to be interrogated by a man who must have him confused with the witcher’s unknown bard, asking for information Jaskier didn’t have and hopefully wouldn’t have given, had he been able to. _

  


The spell left Jaskier gasping for breath. Living through all of his memories in so short a time and knowing that someone else had seen them as well was terrifying. His head hung low as he tried to calm his trembling body. 

It hadn’t just been the images of what he had seen. He had experienced every emotion, all of his year-long regret, all the times he had thought he wasn’t good enough and that he had wasted his life with every missed chance, had washed over him in the span of a few minutes. It was too much.  
The only consoling thought was, that for Cahir it wouldn’t be _enough_. 

He sagged as the mage backed away, dropping her hands from Jaskier’s face and looking blankly at the knight who leaned forward eagerly. 

“Well?,” Cahir asked almost greedily. “What does he know about the witcher?”

The mage looked back at Jaskier. “Nothing. He knows absolutely nothing. He is not the right bard.”

Jaskier had never seen the colour leave someone’s face as fast as he did now. Cahir, who had been red with excitement, became pale as the moon. 

“What do you mean, ‘not the right one’? He had called for the witcher in his sleep, he is clearly the witcher’s lover! The Doppler said they recognized him.”

The mage let out dry laugh. “They must have lied. No surprise there. This man has never met the witcher in his life. He is only a delusional dreamer who would for years admire a stranger from afar and wonder what their life together might be like.” 

That wasn’t fair. He wasn’t delusional, just because he would never get to know the man who inspired him! The witcher, even though he might just be an idealized shadow of himself, had given Jaskier hope and made him dream for becoming more.  
Nothing about that hope had been insignificant or wasted. 

Though by now it had been twisted into something hideous and unnatural. Seeing his memories again - seeing the brief glimpses of the witcher again - had sped his heart up in a completely different way than before. 

Now he also had the memories of the witcher choking him with the unwavering intent to kill. He had someone snarl that Geralt was a monster. He had the knowledge that everything he had had to endure in this dungeon had been because of the witcher. 

He couldn’t help but look back now at that day in Posada and thank destiny and every god there was that he had not spoken to the man who brought him so much misery. 

So he kept his mouth shut. As much as it filled him with smug satisfaction to see Nilfgaard’s plans crumble before him, he knew that now that he was useless to the enemy, he was in even more danger than before.

He watched anxiously as Cahir paced the room. He could practically see the wheels in his head turn. Eventually, the knight came to a conclusion.

“It matters little. It was always a possibility that he would not tell us anything. I just hadn’t expected this reason. But the original plan still stands. As long as the witcher believes that we have his precious bard, he will come to us and then we will-“

The mage didn’t let him finish his thought. “The witcher’s real bard might be dead for all we know. You have been chasing the wrong tracks for months.”

“Then we have to spread the rumour of his bard’s survival.” 

He motioned for the sorceress to come with him and they turned to leave. Cahir haltered at the door, turned to the guards and said dismissively “Your duty is almost done here. We are not wasting any more attention on him. Get rid of him.”

He left and Jaskier was left alone with the two guards who exchanged indecisive looks.  
Finally, one of them came closer, while the other waited at the door. 

Jaskier backed away and held his arms up defensively. 

“No, wait, you don’t have to do this.” The guard drew his sword. Jaskier’s eyes darted around for something to protect him with. He found nothing. “He said to get rid of me; that doesn’t mean you have to kill me. You could just maroon me somewhere.” His back hit the wall. “Please.”

The man raised his sword. Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to look into the eyes of the man who was going to kill him. He would rather have darkness than that cold-hearted stare. He hoped the pain would be swift and merciful. It was more than he had hoped for the past weeks. He had imagined death. A painful one. A merciful one. Any second now, he would find out which one it would be. He heard the soldier draw in more breath to prepare for the deadly swing and -

The door burst open. Jaskier’s eyes flew open at the sound of the metal banging against the wall.

The soldier in front of Jaskier whirled around, sword still at the ready.  
But he was too late. His comrade had already taken his last breath. He was on his knees, blood pouring out of his cut throat. 

Nausea threatened to make Jaskier double over. He couldn’t avert his eyes from the dying man.  
The remaining guard didn’t seem to have the same problem. He rushed forward. His attack was easily parried by the man who had interrupted Jaskier’s unceremonious execution and who now proved a garrotter himself. 

There was so much blood. 

The soldier cried out as the stranger who moved like a shadow, black cloak and the armour underneath that wasn’t Nilfgaardian almost melting into the darkness of the cell, swung his sword at him.  
The attacks came fast and hard. 

Jaskier wanted to look away, to take his chance and run, but he couldn’t move. Like in his fever dreams he was forced to watch as swords clashed against each other, blood and screams flew through the air and blazing golden eyes went hard as the stranger dealt the killing blow. 

The man yanked his weapon roughly out of his victim’s body. For a heartbeat, the thud as the slain guard hit the floor was the only sound in the cell.  
Until the stranger fixed his cold eyes at Jaskier and took a step towards him and Jaskier’s heart dropped. It was him. The witcher. Geralt of Rivia. 

The footfall was too loud in Jaskier’s ears like the rolling thunder or the threatening growl of a wolf.  
That was what the man looked like. A wolf, a predator closing in on his prey. 

Decades ago, Jaskier had been too scared to approach the golden-eyed man because of this look and he had regretted it ever since.  
Now, seeing these eyes again, he remembered exactly why he had made that choice. He wanted to flee, to back away further, but behind him was the wall and in front of him was the witcher, caging him in. 

The blood of the men he had just killed was splattered across his face. How many more were out there, lying dead on the ground? 

He came closer. 

The sword was still in his hands. As if he needed it to kill Jaskier. He knew he couldn’t defend himself against the witcher. He knew what it felt like, having his hands around his throat, having his fingers claw at his skin. That had been the shifter. What kind of monster was the real witcher? How much more would it hurt when the man he had once admired would kill him?

The golden eyes roamed over his body, lingered on every cut on his face, assessing him. The witcher’s face turned into a grimace that surely would give Jaskier nightmares if he survived long enough to sleep again.  
Was death like sleep? Would he dream in death and what if those hard eyes that were so full of rage would follow him in his dreams when he no longer breathed?

Jaskier’s eyes widened. He could feel his own heartbeat racing painfully in his chest. He was frozen. He had to get away- had to flee! But he couldn’t move as the witcher reached out for him, for his face - his neck- he could feel the shifter’s – the witcher’s!- hands around his throat again, draining his life, he didn’t want to die, not here, not by _his_ hands!

The witcher was right in front of him, too close, too dangerous. His hands were almost touching him.

He found his voice again, as small and brittle as it was. “Geralt? Please don’t hurt me.”

**The second time meeting for the first time**

It hadn’t been too hard to find the fortress. Most of the area was occupied by Nilfgaard, so the troops hadn’t bothered to hide where they were going after they made sure the invaded cities stayed in line. 

Getting in had been harder though. The fortress was heavily guarded. It had taken Geralt two hours of lying in wake and observing the changing shifts of the guards until he found the right moment to sneak past. 

He was silent as a shadow as he crept through the corridors. The halls were relatively empty. The few people he heard were easily evaded. He rounded a corner into a hallway and quickly drew back again, as he heard footsteps coming his way from the other side of the hallway. 

He risked peering at them from behind a corner. There were two women, neither of them wearing armour. But the way the shorter and more muscular one carried herself made it clear that she was not to be underestimated. She had the rigid posture that only came from years of being a soldier. 

“The others have been talking about you,” the soldier said and Geralt pressed himself further into the shadows. 

“Oh, have they?” The other woman tried to sound nonchalant, but it was clear that she was nervous. 

Geralt cursed under his breath as the steps halted not too far from where he stood. He didn’t have time to wait for them to end their chat, but there was no other way than going through this corridor or turning back. If he was completely honest with himself, he knew that he couldn’t be sure about the way. He had never been here before. But no matter which direction was the right one, he wasn’t going to get any closer to where he needed to be, by going back where he came from every time he saw a Nilfgaardian. If anything, it would be more likely that the more he saw, the closer he actually got.  
But he couldn’t risk attacking the women. At least not yet. Although closer than before, they were still too far away that he wouldn’t able to get to them without giving them time to scream and alert others. 

So he was forced listen to them. 

“They blame you that they had to stay awake the past days. They think that if you hadn’t spent so much time with the prisoner, their job would have been over faster.” 

Geralt’s ears perked up. So the tall woman knew where the prisoners were kept. 

She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear nervously. “He needed the rest. Sure, it would have been over quicker without it, but only because he probably wouldn’t have survived being forced to stay awake like this. He would have collapsed from exhaustion immediately. And he is still badly hurt-“

“So are my fellow soldiers – the people I fight with side by side!” The soldier grabbed the other woman’s shoulders. “You have seen them. Between every battle you treat their wounds, Eligia. And how many of them are allowed even half as much rest as you granted the prisoner, before they are sent back to the battlefield? With every day that he refuses to tell us what we need to know, more of our people die.”

Geralt could see the other woman’s shoulders slump. “It doesn’t matter now. Haven’t you heard what Fringilla wanted to do to him? First they destroyed his body and now they are tampering with his mind. It’s inhuman!”

“It’s the only option. The bard has had his chance to tell us about the lion cub and his witcher.” 

Geralt’s clenched his teeth. So the rumours were true. The bard whose songs had encouraged the forces against Nilfgaard had finally caught the enemy’s attention. 

Word had travelled slowly, now that people were too afraid to leave their homes and the news of the bard’s capture had only reached Geralt a few days ago, but the way the women were talking made it sound like it had been far longer than that.  
Long enough apparently that they had needed a healer to keep the bard from dying. How long did it take for someone to break under torture? 

The healer sighed in defeat. “I know that you only want for this war to end. I do too. But not like this.”

“I know,” the solider’s voice softened. “But this will all be over soon. By now, the mage will have gotten the information we need and we can end this war. I won’t have to fight anymore and you don’t have to watch our people die.”

She opened her arms and without hesitation the healer embraced her. The held each other tight and closed their eyes. Their guard was down. 

With the speed of a viper Geralt darted out from his hiding spot. He grabbed the soldier by the short hair and ripped her out of the other’s embrace. Before either of the woman had time to react, he had pinned against his chest, holding his sword to her throat. 

“Scream and she dies,” he snarled. 

The healer’s eyes went wide and she froze mid movement. 

The other woman struggled in his grip. “Eligia, run! Get yourself to safety and get help!”

Eligia’s eyes darted uncertainly between the sword that pressed against the woman’s throat and Geralt. 

He fixed her with an icy stare. “Do what she says and she dies on the spot.”

“Don’t hurt her, please!” 

Geralt’s grip didn’t slacken. “Where is the prisoner?”

“The bard?” The healer’s eyes widened in sudden realization. “You are the witcher! You actually came for him.”

“You said something about his mind being tampered with. What does that mean?”

“It means you’re too late.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “A sorceress is with him in this very moment. She can see into people’s minds. He won’t be able to hold the lion cub’s secret any longer.”

A cold fist gripped Geralt’s heart. 

“Where is he?”

The soldier ceased her struggle. Instead of trying to fight Geralt with her strength, she turned to the healer and said imploringly “Don’t tell him! He is here; this is exactly what we wanted. Don’t ruin this chance! My life is not important. Go and tell the others that the witcher is here and we can end this war! You can be safe!”

Something panged in Geralt’s chest and his jaw tightened.  
Tears brimmed in the healer’s eyes. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. 

Geralt let go of the soldier’s hair, but before she could whirl around and attack him, he formed Axii with his now free hand.  
Immediately the woman went limp and dropped to the ground without Geralt’s support. 

The healer let out a strangled cry and impulsively made a step forward, but Geralt’s sword that he now pointed at her chest stopped her. 

Her eyes were fixed in horror on the woman lying motionless on the floor.

“What have you done to her?” Her voice came out as little more than a breath.

“She is only asleep. If anyone asks, you tell them she had been knocked out. If she is lucky, she won’t be charged for treason.” 

The healer unstiffened and Geralt lowered his sword.  
“Now tell me. Where is the prisoner?” 

He smelled the fear.  
The stench of it hit him like a wave. The whole cell reeked of it and mingled with the smell of the two guards’ corpses.  
He ripped his sword out of the soldier’s body and turned to the prisoner cowering against the wall. 

Geralt had no control over his body as he walked towards him, guided by the need to be closer. Geralt’s throat tightened painfully as he took him in. 

The prisoner was shaking, barely able to hold himself up. His hair was shoulder-length and shaggy. Cuts and bruises covered his face and there under his eyes were heavy bags. How many days had he suffered his captor’s abuse? How much time had Geralt wasted, not knowing what was going on in this prison?

Uncontrollable anger surged through Geralt and clashed with the fear he smelled coming off in waves from the man who stared at him with wide blue eyes.  
Blue eyes that he had longed to see again for oh so long. The need to ease the fear away burned within Geralt. What had they done to his lark?

He reached out for Jaskier’s face. His hand trembled. He was right there, so close! 

“Geralt?” 

Geralt’s breath got stuck in his throat. It couldn’t be. But Jaskier had said his name. Unimaginable relief flooded through Geralt. Jaskier remembered him! 

“Please don’t hurt me.”

The words, spoken in such terror, with a voice almost unrecognizably small, shattered his hope into a million pieces. 

Geralt flinched back, panting. How could he have been so foolish to let himself believe even for a second Jaskier would remember him? 

There it was in Jaskier’s eyes, plain as day. He didn’t see Geralt. He stared at him as if he was the most fearsome thing he had ever seen. He finally saw what he had refused to see in all those years he had banished from his memory.  
He looked at Geralt and saw the monster. The butcher. The _witcher_. 

Without warning, Jaskier’s legs gave out. Unthinkingly, Geralt rushed to his side, grabbing him under the arms to hold him upright. 

“No, get away from me! Let go!,” Jaskier screamed in a voice so shrill it almost hurt his ears. He thrashed about as if Geralt’s touch was burning him.  
Carefully, Geralt lowered him to the ground and immediately backed away, giving Jaskier space. His heart clenched, as he looked at Jaskier laying on the ground quivering and curled up as if the whole world wanted to hurt him. 

After a few heartbeats, Geralt got closer slowly, like one would a wounded animal. He hesitated before holding out a hand for Jaskier to take, so he could help him up. Jaskier stared at it, but didn’t take it.

Geralt’s eyes drifted to Jaskier’s hands that the bard was now holding close to his chest. His stomach churned. 

“What have they done to your hands?” 

Geralt stared in horror at the mangled fingers. He only realized how much of his rage must be showing on his face, when Jaskier let out a sob and couched up.

“I didn’t tell them anything, I swear. Please don’t kill me!” 

Geralt’s heart turned to ice. He swallowed against the horror that didn’t relinquish its hold on him.

“I am not going to.” He tried to sound as calming as possible, but even he heard the barely repressed tightness in it. “I am here to help you. I will get you out of here. I have a friend who can heal you. You will be safe. But you have to trust me.“

“How? They said you… They hurt me. Because they thought I know you. I don’t want to know you!” 

There it was again. This all too familiar feeling as if a dagger was being twisted in his gut. These simple words confirmed all of Geralt’s darkest fears. It truly was his fault that Jaskier was in pain; that he had become the victim of unspeakable horrors.

“You don’t have to get to know me. I can stay as far away from you as you need me to. But let me help you first. We don’t have much time. It is almost nightfall. They will close the gates soon and it will be near impossible to leave this fortress then.”

It would already be harder than he had thought. Jaskier wasn’t even able to stand upright on his own. There was no way he would be able to walk or even run, should it come to it.

Jaskier didn’t say anything. But he lowered his eyes and nodded curtly. 

“I’m sorry,” Geralt whispered. He hesitated, before he reached out. He watched Jaskier as a hawk, giving him opportunity to evade his touch. As gently as he could, he lifted Jaskier in his arms.

Jaskier went stiff at his touch, but didn’t try to get away again. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s heart beating frantically. It hurt. It hurt so much to know that he was the reason for Jaskier’s fear. Everything in him told him to set Jaskier down again, to stop forcing his detested presence at Jaskier. But there was no other way to get him out of here. The lesser evil. Time and time again, Geralt had refused to choose. But now, as Jaskier’s life was on the line, he would gladly make the choice. It was better Jaskier was afraid of him now, than him suffering any more at the hands of the Nilfgaardians. 

As quietly as possible, Geralt snuck back out of the cell. He cringed at every step he took up the stairs that jostled Jaskier. It must hurt him, despite how hard Geralt tried to keep him steady, but Jaskier didn’t make a sound. 

The halls were empty as he scurried through them. He kept his ears strained, listening for anyone who might be on the look-out for the escaped prisoner and him.  
But apparently, no one had heard the commotion down in the cell and the two guards he had slain were not yet missed by anyone. For what must have been the first time in his life, luck was on Geralt’s side.

That changed when suddenly a door opened right before him.  
He froze. There was no time to hide and he couldn’t draw his sword while carrying Jakier. And he’d be damned if he let go of him now.  
Geralt held Jaskier closer to his chest, as if that could protect him. 

Someone stepped out of the door. It was the soldier he had attacked before. She stared at him in shock, before her eyes fell on Jaskier and her expression darkened. Jaskier winced in Geralt’s arms and pressed himself against his chest when he saw her. 

An irritated voice came out of the room the woman had just left. “Why are you just standing there? Is something wrong?” 

This was it. Geralt held his breath and tensed as he waited for the soldier to declare that he was here on a silver plate for the Nilfgaardians to capture.  
For a moment that dragged on forever, they stared at each other, neither of them making a move. Then slowly, the soldier turned her head towards the man who had spoken. 

“No,” her voice was flat. “Everything is alright.”

“Then get going already. I am starting to doubt your commitment to our cause. Fist we catch you sleeping on the job and now this irritating hesitation. Do what you were told or there will be consequences.”

“Of course,” she replied curtly and came fully out to the hallway. She closed the door behind her quietly and stood there for a second, before facing Geralt with a cold stare. 

“I am only doing this because you spared my sister from watching me die,” she hissed, careful not to raise her voice enough to let it carry through the door to her commander. “A life for a life.” She furrowed her brows. “I give you ten minutes. Whether you are gone by then or not, I will do my duty and alarm Cahir to your presence.” 

Geralt nodded at her and hurried past her. He wouldn’t waste this precious time she had given him with thanks and idle chatter. 

They made it to the gates where Geralt crouched down, cursing the time that was running out on him. The guards wouldn’t change their post in the little time they had left. Geralt’s eyes darted over them. There were too many to fight and he had already searched for a secret passage in and out. There was none. The only way out was past the guards. 

Geralt ground his teeth and stared at the guards as if he could will them to open the gates for him. If only he wasn’t carrying Jaskier, he would have been able to use his hands to cast a sign, but as it were, he was a slave to time. 

A shrill alarm made Jaskier jerk in his arms. The time was up. Cahir now knew he was here and soon every soldier would be on the look-out for him.  
He stiffened and pressed more into the shadows, hoping that Jaskier wouldn’t panic and make any loud noises. 

Geralt’s shoulders tensed, ready for a fight, as watched as the soldier’s at the gate exchanged looks. Hesitantly they raised their weapons before leaving their posts to see what the commotion was about. It was a blessing of destiny that Geralt wouldn’t let go to waste.  
He didn’t wait until the soldiers were completely out of sight. Who knew for how long they would dare to keep the gate unguarded. 

Jaskier drew a sharp breath as he was jarred when Geralt jumped up. He held Jaskier close and sprinted to the gate, ramming it open with his shoulder and finally making it through. 

He ignored the shouts behind him; didn’t turn to look as he heard someone call for horses. He disappeared into the bushes; ran through the forest surrounding the fortress, uncaring of the snapping twigs that cut into his skin. Time flew past, as he raced through the forest, jumped over fallen trees and leaped over rocks. There was only one thought in his mind. He had to get Jaskier away. He would run to the end of the continent, if it ensured Jaskier’s safety.

He only slowed down when the last sounds of their pursuers had long since faded.  
Carefully, he sat Jaskier on the ground. 

“Are you alright?”

Jaskier nodded, but breathed heavily. 

Geralt hesitated. “Might I see your wounds?”

Jaskier shook his head vehemently and sheered off from him. Geralt sighed but didn’t move towards him again. Instead he lowered himself to the ground, hoping that he would seem less intimidating. 

“It is going to be alright,” Geralt said in a low voice. “The friend I told you about, she has healed injuries far worse than this. Your hands will be better soon.”

He wished he could say the same about Jaskier’s mind. How long would it take to heal his mental wounds? Would he ever be able to heal completely?

Jaskier wet his lips nervously with his tongue. “Do you think we are safe here?” 

“We are. I know that you are scared and you have every right and reason to. But know, that I won’t let anything happen to you. Not again.”

Jaskier nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. At every sound of a snapping twig or the rustling of a bird taking flight, his eyes darted around in a panic. 

Geralt wished he knew how to calm him. But right now, he was the last person who would be able to comfort Jaskier.  
For a brief moment the thought of using Axii on him flashed through his mind, but immediately he cursed himself for even considering that option. It would be cruel to use a sign on Jaskier after he had just had a mage invade his mind. Although Jaskier must still be afraid of him, he trusted him enough to not try to run away. Or maybe he knew that he wouldn’t be able to. Maybe, for Jaskier, this –being with Geralt – was just another prison. Whether it was Jaskier’s trust or his desperation, Geralt would be damned if he abused it and messed with his mind again. 

As the sun set and the green of the forest turned to grey, Geralt could hear Jaskier’s heart slow down. The smell of panic didn’t wear of, but it was replaced by exhaustion.  
Geralt watched as Jaskier’s eyes drifted shut and his breathing calmed. He saw his thin frame shiver at every tiny breeze.  
Without hesitation, Geralt shrugged off his cloak and laid it over Jaskier. It was a thin fabric, but hopefully it would help, if only to offer the comfort that Geralt couldn’t give.

He stayed awake, watching as Jaskier’s eyebrows drew together and his mouth was pressed into a thin line, while he slept. Not even in dreams he was granted relief. Had all of this really been worth it? Had Jaskier known about all of this pain and suffering, he would have to endure without even knowing why, would he have made the same choice back then? 

Geralt swallowed. Jaskier wouldn’t be able to hear him say it, but he needed to get it out. 

“I know it doesn’t mean anything to you now, but we are all safe. Your stupid plan actually worked. We kept quiet, as we always do. And you, you brilliant, insane man sang your songs. I heard them, you know? Your new songs. Always sung by bards that weren’t you. It hurt, but I sought them out. I needed to hear your songs. Never with your voice. But the melodies, the words, they were so _you_. I wish I could have heard them from you.” He ran a hand down his face, trying and failing to suppress the shudder. “And Nilfgaard heard your songs too. They followed your songs, thinking we’d be there with you. You bought us enough time to get Ciri to safety. Yennefer’s spell finally worked. I wanted to find you; to bring you back to us, but I couldn’t. I searched everywhere, until I heard that you have been caught. I was too late. I always am. I am never fast enough, it seems. I wonder… had I been fast enough back then- had I told you in time that I -”  
He broke off. There was so much more he wanted to say. Important things, but he looked at the sleeping form of Jaskier and the words died on his tongue. This wasn’t the Jaskier he wanted to say them to.  
“We will find a way to get you back. I swear it. No matter how long it takes and what I have to do. You will be back.”


	15. Now Leave Behind Your Memory

**Now Leave Behind Your Memory**

Jaskier stirred on the hard floor, but his eyes remained shut. He couldn’t bring himself to open them. Not yet. What if he looked around and found that he was still in his cell? That everything that had happened yesterday had only been a figment of imagination? Maybe he had blacked out after the mage had invaded his head and his broken mind had made up his daring escape to cope with being violated.  
Jaskier wouldn’t be able to bear having to face that cruel truth. He would rather stay oblivious and grasp at the hope that everything had been real for as long as he could. 

A sharp snapping sound next to him made him flinch and open his eyes. There was a man in black armour crouching down opposite of him. The sight sent Jaskier's heart racing. Cahir was back. He had come back and Jaskier was going to die now. He didn’t want to die, he wanted to live, he wanted to get out of here!

He shuffled backwards, desperate to get away. His useless hands searched the floor for something to protect him with, but they found only leaves. Leaves?  
Jaskier haltered. His heartbeat slowed and his breathing settled. Finally, he was able to really take in his surroundings, now that he wasn't blinded by his panic anymore. He was lying on a forest floor. The light of the morning sun was dimmed by a canopy of leaves.

He let out an involuntary laugh. It was shaky and dry, but filled with all the relief that came crashing down on him like a wave smashing against the shore. It hadn’t been his twisted imagination or a hallucination brought upon him by his exhaustion or the sorceress’s magic. He truly had been freed yesterday! Tears welled up in his eyes as he struggled to grasp the concept. It felt so strange to know that he wasn’t at the mercy of his tormentors anymore. They couldn’t hurt him now. He was free! 

He let his head fall back as he took in the forest. Never had the green of the leaves looked so lively to him. His eyes roamed over the trees, the rocks, the small animals he saw hiding in the bushes. A smile broke across his face. 

Until his eyes fell on his rescuer and his heart stopped. In a flash, the relief and ecstasy were replaced by an all too well known fear and the images of the monster who had attacked him in his cell, looking at him with these golden eyes, just as the witcher was looking at him now.  
Every instinct in Jaskier screamed at him to run away. But he couldn’t. His legs would never carry him fast enough to outpace a witcher. But the witcher didn’t make a move to hold him in place; didn’t attack him or snarl at him. 

Instead he said quietly: “How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?”

His voice was so different than the furious voice of the shifter had been, that it made Jaskier pause. He took a deep breath and forced himself to really look at the man whose face betrayed no emotion. It sent a shiver down Jaskier’s spine and instinctively, he pulled up the blanket to protect himself, though it hurt to use his fingers to hold onto the blanket.  
Wait.  
This wasn’t a blanket – of course it wasn’t- it was a cloak. The black cloak the witcher had worn the day before. Jaskier couldn’t remember how he had ended up with it. 

He squinted at the witcher, whose eyes grew almost imperceptibly softer. He hadn’t thought these monster’s eyes could show anything other than hate and fury and stone-cold calculation. 

But this was not the creature that had attacked him in his cell. He only looked like it. This was Geralt of Rivia, the man who had broken into a Nilfgaardian fortress only to get him out. He had saved him. Had given him his cloak in the night and watched over him, not to make sure his prey wouldn’t get away, but to make sure, Jaskier was safe. 

Slowly the panic subsided. Jaskier had heard about Geralt of Rivia. He was no dangerous stranger, though they had never truly met in person. For years Jaskier had chased the witcher’s tales. The stories didn’t speak of a heartless killer who spilt the blood of innocents.  
He was sung about as a hero. A friend of humanity. This man didn’t want to harm him. He had said he would get Jaskier to safety and for some reason, Jaskier wanted to believe him. He was going to be alright. 

But no matter how often he repeated that phrase it in his mind, the feeling of complete ease he so desperately wished for didn’t come. His fear was all but gone, but as much as he wished he could trust this man, he couldn’t shake the images of the shifter from his mind completely. 

If the witcher had guessed his thoughts, he didn’t let it show. He just stared at him, giving him the time he needed, while Jaskier tried his best to get his feelings under control. It didn’t work. But it was good enough, to breathe normally and think somewhat clearly. Eventually, he felt his own heart slow to a normal heartbeat.  
Geralt waited a moment longer, before he stood up.

“We have to get going as fast as possible.”

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who had been beaten and driven to the brink of breaking. Still, Jaskier knew that the witcher was right. They had stayed here too long already. Every moment they wasted here was a moment Nilfgaard was closer to finding them. 

Jaskier tried to get up, but the exhaustion still lingered deep within his bones. He couldn’t even take two steps without having to lean against a tree for support. He grit his teeth in frustration as he staggered and almost fell, before he found another tree to hold himself up against.

He risked a glance at the witcher. He looked at Jaskier as if he wanted to steady him, but he didn’t move. And Jaskier would be caught dead before he asked the witcher for help. 

He pushed himself away from the tree with his shoulder and managed another few steps, before he had to rest again. It was frustrating. He couldn’t even hold onto something for stability to help with his walk because of his damned broken hands. 

Jaskier burned to ask how long it would take them to get to wherever it was they were going, but he didn’t dare. Talking back had not ended well for him before. So he stayed quiet, even though every step he took hurt. He had been through worse, but still it felt like this simple walk would be the death of him.

Slowly, his resolve began to crumble. He _would_ have been dead by now if it hadn’t been for the witcher. But why had he helped him? It didn’t make sense for the witcher to risk his life for a man he had never met. He couldn’t have been worried about Jaskier spilling his secrets. No matter what Cahir had believed: if anyone knew that Jaskier had no information about the witcher it was Geralt himself. 

Whatever Geralt’s reason had been, he had saved Jaskier’s life. Jaskier bit his lip and nervously glanced at the witcher who was looking at him with an emotionless face. If only he would show emotion!  
Back in the cell, he had looked furious. It had been terrifying, but at least Jaskier had known what he had been feeling. Right now, he could be feeling anything. Or nothing. A shiver went down Jaskier’s spine. 

“I am really trying to walk faster,” Jaskier said. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt od Rivia’s expression didn’t change. “Why are you apologizing?”

Jaskier blinked. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he searched for an answer. “Because you are angry with me?”

“Angry? Why would you think that?”

“Uhm…” Jaskier gestured vaguely. “Your face looks a bit angry. I suppose. I don’t really know.”

“Oh.” The expression still remained the same, but Jaskier thought he saw something flash in the golden eyes. “I am not angry.” The witcher hesitated, before adding “I am worried.”

Of course he was worried. They were still in enemy territory. They had to keep going and Jaskier was holding them up. 

“Maybe-“ Jaskier swallowed. “Maybe I do need some help.” 

He couldn’t tell, if Geralt’s face was softening at all, but he liked to imagine that it did. If only to make it easier not to wince when he came closer.  
Shortly before he reached him, Geralt halted and looked at him with another unreadable expression. Was it expectant? Annoyed? Unsure? Jaskier had no idea what the witcher wanted him to do. Geralt seemed to notice Jaskier’s confusion.

“May I touch you?,” he asked stiffly. “It would be easier, if you let me carry you again.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, thank you,” Jaskier stammered. He had gotten so used to people ignoring or even seeking his discomfort and doing with him whatever they wanted, that Jaskier was surprised that the witcher even bothered to ask his permission. Especially, because he had the feeling that had he denied Geralt his permission, the witcher would have accepted it and not touched him, despite how hindering it would have been.

But as it was, Jaskier was lifted from his feet again. For a split second, he was afraid the witcher would drop him. Jaskier couldn’t hold onto him without hurting his fingers even more. He was at the witcher’s mercy. Should he decide to hurt Jaskier, there would be nothing he could do to stop him.  
But his worries were unfounded. The witcher held him close and gently as if he was afraid he would break Jaskier. 

Despite the spike of fear that had burst through Jaskier in the first moment he had felt these strong arms around him, he now felt as though no harm would come to him, as long as he was held by Geralt and he had to resist snuggling closer. 

Jaskier tried to ignore just how close they were as he was carried through the forest. He should not feel safe with the witcher. He had trusted people before. He had trusted Cahir, when he had given him a blanket and ran his hands through Jaskier’s hair. And he had been burned when his trust had been abused. He had been left with nothing.  
But the witcher hadn’t taken his cloak back. He had let Jaskier keep it without questioning it. His touch had not become painful. Not yet? Or not ever?  
It was strange having these contradicting thoughts battling in his mind. 

It didn’t take long until Geralt slowed down and put a pause on the thoughts fighting in Jaskier’s indecisive mind. 

“What is it?,” Jaskier whispered. Goosebumps covered his arms. “Have the black-clads found us?” He couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice. 

The witcher shook his head. “No, I am looking for someone.” 

Jaskier let his eyes wander. He saw nothing safe for the bushes, the trees, a horse and some boulders. “Who-“

He broke of and did a double take. What was a riderless horse doing here in the middle of the forest? Had a Nilfgaardian left it here to search for them on foot? His heart sped up painfully. They had to leave! So why was the witcher still standing here when they were in danger?

Jaskier looked back up to the witcher to tell him that they had to go and found that the man’s expression had finally changed. It was only a small change, but it was unmistakably there.  
The tiny smile was so unexpected that Jaskier forgot his worries for a moment and finally the feeling of unconditional safety finally took hold of him. 

“This is Roach,” the witcher said and his tone could be mistaken for fondness. Carefully, he lowered Jaksier to his feet again. The witcher made sure he was steady, before leaving his side to stroke the horses muzzle. 

Jaskier was so astonished at that display of affection and the fact that the witcher had given his horse such a strange name, that he forgot to be careful with his words. 

“It isn’t bound,” Jaskier noticed. “Were you not afraid it would run away?”

Geralt huffed. “I would hope she’d run away, when she thinks it’s necessary. She wouldn’t have survived this long, if she didn’t.” Quieter he added “Not all of my friend are that smart though.” 

Maybe it was only wishful thinking, but Jaskier could have sworn the words held a hint of affection. 

Jaskier took a hesitant step towards the horse. The mare nuzzled against him and nibbled at his shoulder. Jaskier flinched. 

“It’s alright,” Geralt said lowly and laid a hand on the horse’s neck. “She likes you.”

Jaskier smiled nervously. “She does? Most horses I met weren’t too fond of strangers.”

The witcher looked at him sharply, but then schooled his expression into the emotionless mask again.

“Do you think you can ride or will it hurt too much?”

Jaskier snorted cynically. “I think I have reached a point where everything hurts. If we ride, it will be over sooner.”

He quickly came to regret his decision. When the witcher had carried him, he had barely felt the movement. At least not in comparison to now.  
As he was shaken in the saddle, he felt every bruise tenfold. He couldn’t even use his hands to hold on to something, broken as they were. The only stability he had came from the arm that was slung tightly around his waist. The witcher sat behind the saddle on the bare horseback, somehow steering the horse and keeping Jaskier relatively stable at the same time. 

They rode for what must have been hours. The forest got left behind and they were galloping over an open field. 

When the trees had parted and Jaskier saw the open sky above him again, it felt like breathing for the first time. Tears welled up in his eyes, as the sun hit his face. He had given up all hope on ever feeling its warmth again. He couldn’t help but let out a small noise of happiness.

“It’s beautiful! Has the sun always been so bright?”

The witcher only hummed in response, but it didn’t seem annoyed. If anything, it sounded content?  
Jaskier took it as a sign that it was safe to abandoned the silence he had initially kept so as not to anger the witcher.

He didn’t hold back with his comments. Every pretty flower he spotted, every shape of a cloud, every breeze that blew in his face and made him feel alive, he shared with the witcher.  
At first, he wasn’t sure, if the witcher was even listening. But the silence was better than the anger Cahir had shown him, whenever he had said something that had displeased him.  
No matter how trivial Jaskier’s words were, Geralt didn’t seem put out by them. In fact, it was almost as if he relaxed only the tiniest bit with every time Jaskier spoke to him. 

The grip around Jaskier’s waist tightened slightly and the horse slowed down. Jaskier twisted in the saddle to give the witcher a confused look. 

“Are we taking a break? I’m not saying that I know any better than you – I don’t! – but shouldn’t we maybe stop somewhere with a bit more cover for us?” 

“We are not taking a break. This is where we were headed.”

“Ah.” Jaskier looked around. Had he missed something? As far as he could see, there was nothing here except for grass and flower-decked hills. “It’s lovely. But… uhm… is this a good place for a hideout?” 

“It’s the best place.” 

Geralt dismounted the horse and led it a few paces further. He looked around, presumably making sure they really were alone, before making a strange gesture with his hand. Nothing happened. 

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. Whatever the witcher had tried to do, it evidently hadn’t worked. His heart sped up. What were they supposed to do now? This was an open field. If Nilfgaard decided to come looking for them here, they would without a doubt find them. But Geralt’s expression betrayed no fear, when he turned back to Jaskier. One could almost say he looked…satisfied? Self-assured? Whatever it was, Jaskier slowly felt his own panic ebb away. 

After asking for his permission again, Geralt helped Jaskier out of the saddle. It felt good to feel the ground beneath his feet again, even if he had to lean against the witcher for balance. Geralt held onto his shoulders, until Jaskier was sure he could stand on his own again.

“There is one more thing I have to do,” Geralt said and gingerly let go of Jaskier. He rounded the horse and rummaged through her saddlebags. 

Jaskier’s curiosity turned to horror as the witcher pulled out a knife.  
He backed away, eyes fixed on the weapon. No, nono, this couldn’t be happening. He had just gotten away from the pain! The image of Cahir slashing at his skin flashed through his mind. Jaskier couldn’t breathe. The memory was enough to send a throbbing ache to his cuts and his fingers. He stared at the knife. He wanted to run, to get as far away from the pain that would inevitably come, but his legs didn’t obey him. It was as if he was petrified. 

The witcher turned back to him and haltered. 

“Jaskier?” 

He couldn’t speak. He only shook his head. Again and again. His eyes were wide open and he couldn’t fucking breathe!

“Jaskier!”

In two long strides the witcher was by his side. His free hand found Jakier’s face. He winced. 

“Don’t hurt me. Please. Not again.” It was barely audible, but it was enough for the witcher to drop his hand and back away, giving Jaskier space. 

“I am not going to hurt you, Jaskier. I promise.” Jaskier wanted to believe him so badly, but the knife still hadn’t left the witcher’s hand. Geralt followed his gaze and cursed when he found the source of Jaskier’s fear. Slowly he set the weapon on the ground and held his hands up as if to show that he wasn’t armed anymore. “You are safe with me. I need you to breathe again.” 

He tried. He really tried. Through the painful memories Jaskier heard Geralt’s breathing. He focussed on it with all his might and tried to mimic it. Slowly, ever so slowly, he felt his heart find its calm rhythm again. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“You don’t ever have to be sorry about that. I am the one who’s to blame.” The witcher hesitated. “May I take up the knife again? I give you my word I will not use it to harm you.”

Jaskier swallowed dryly. The witcher had gotten him out of his prison. For some unfathomable reason he had risked his own freedom and safety to ensure Jakier’s. The only reason why he shouldn’t be trusted was the memory of the shifter hurting him.  
Jaskier couldn’t shake this memory off, but he tried his best to repress it and supplant it with the memory of the witcher assuring that even the tiniest touch was not unwelcome. What reason would he have to hurt Jaskier now?  
Reluctantly, Jaskier nodded. 

The witcher picked up the knife again. Jaskier noticed him taking a few steps back, putting distance between them. Carefully the witcher lifted the weapon. And sliced it across his own hand. He clenched it to a fist and a thin line of blood tickled out. 

Jaskier couldn’t repress the outcry. “What are you doing?” He didn’t think. He just rushed to the witcher as fast as he could. His damned useless hands hovered over the witcher’s now injured hand. “You can’t just go around hurting yourself!”

The witcher shot him an unreadable look. “Believe me, this is by far not the worst I have been hurt.” There was a miniscule shift in his expression. Jaskier wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. “But thank you for your concern.”

“But why did you do it?”

“It is part of getting you to safety.” The witcher lifted his bloody hand. He spoke some words in a foreign language that Jaskier didn’t understand. He thought, it sounded a bit like Elder speech, but not enough that Jaskier could make sense of the words. The only word he recognized with certainty was his own name.

“What did you say?,” he asked when Geralt was done.

“It’s only a rough translation, but it means ‘I swear by my blood that Jaskier is a trusted friend and worthy of being permitted entrance.’ ” 

A trusted friend? They have known each other for less than a day! He always thought witchers were slow to trust, but this one had shed his own blood for a man he just met and allowed him entrance to his hide-out. It didn’t make sense.  
And then there was another thing. Jaskier had been too distraught to think anything about it before, but how did the witcher know his name? Sure, Jaskier was a bard, but he was nowhere close to being famous and the witcher didn’t seem like the kind of person to find out what the bard’s name was whose songs he might have heard in passing. 

Instead of voicing any of that, he swallowed his curiosity and said “It sounded more dramatic in the other language. I don’t know why, but I half expected it to rhyme.”

The witcher’s mouth twitched up the tiniest bit. “It would have been better as a rhyme. But I’m no good with those. Maybe you can work on a better translation, once you are better.” His gaze shifted to something behind Jaskier. “Maybe _that_ is dramatic enough for you.”

Jaskier furrowed his brows and turned around, knowing that there would be nothing there to see. Except there was.  
He gasped. In the place where the witcher had made the useless gesture before, there now was a ring of swirling of colours in the air, as tall as a grown man. 

“What in the name of Melitele is that?”

“It’s a portal. Not a normal one though. My friend invented this spell herself. It leads to a place you can only access through one of her portals.”

“How could I have missed it? I swear there was nothing there before!”

“It was here since I summoned it. Another perk of Yennefer’s spell. Even non-sorcerers can create them. But only those who have been chosen by Yennefer. And now by me and my daughter as well. For anyone who isn’t deemed trustworthy by us, the portals will remain unnoticed and they can’t accidently walk through. For them it’s like the place had never existed.”

“And you trust me with this knowledge?” The question was out before he could stop himself. It probably wasn’t the best idea to remind the witcher that he didn’t really know him. But Geralt didn’t hesitate with his answer. 

“I would trust you with my life.” 

“Why?”

Geralt averted his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Not yet. Yennefer will look after you and you will understand.” The witcher grabbed the horse’s reins again. “Can you walk through or should I help you?”

“I can walk a bit, I think.” He bit his lips. “But maybe a little help would be nice.”

The witcher nodded and laid one arm around Jaskier’s waist, making sure Jaskier could lean on him, if he needed to, but not force it onto him. 

Together they walked through the swirling pool of colours. The ever changing patterns were beautiful, but they also sent a nauseating feeling through Jaskier. He got closer to the witcher; his presence being the only thing that grounded him right now.

When the colours faded away, Jaskier let out a relieved sigh. 

“I know. I hate it too. And the first time is always the worst.,” Geralt said and Jaskier thought there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “I sometimes think Yennefer included the portals in her spell just to spite me.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaskier saw the colour flickering and then vanishing completely. So this was it. He was in the witcher’s hide-out with no way out. A prisoner again. But somehow the feeling of dread he had expected didn’t come. 

His stomach had finally settled enough to really look around. They stood right in front of a cabin surrounded by a garden full of flowers. Bigger than cottages usually were, but looking cosy and welcoming. 

He hadn’t noticed Geralt letting go of the horse’s reins, but he must have done so, for now the horse left their side to nibble at the grass. 

“There are no stables here,” Jaskier noticed. 

Geralt shrugged. “We don’t need one. As long as Yennefer wants it to, it stays warm here. And Roach wouldn’t run away anyway. I will unsaddle her later. Right now it’s more important to look after you.”

Jaskier didn’t register the words. He was too seized by the scene before him. It looked so peaceful. After the months and months of running from one town to the next, fleeing from Nilfgaard and seeing destruction and fear wherever he went, the sight of this untouched piece of life made tears well up in his eyes.  
With a shudder he remembered when he had thought of his cell as the closest thing to home. How utterly twisted that had been! This was what a home was supposed to look like. 

Geralt loosened his hold on him and went to open the door for him. Jaskier walked through and let his eyes wander through the room. They locked onto something standing in a corner. His breath hitched. 

“Yennefer is normally in the back room,” Geralt said once he entered after Jaskier. “I’ll take you to her.”

Jaskier didn’t move. Without thinking, he made a step towards the lute that leaned against the wall. It was beautiful. Filigreed carvings of flowers covered the dark and shiny wood. It looked well cared for and expensive.  
His heart clenched when he thought of his own shabby lute that he would never play again. 

“Do you play?,” he asked without thinking. He couldn’t imagine the rough witcher coaxing sounds out of this instrument. 

Geralt turned around and froze when his eyes fell on the object of Jaskier’s fascination. He didn’t speak for a while and Jaskier wasn’t sure if he had offended him somehow with his question. But eventually Geralt answered with a voice that sounded strangely pressed. 

“No, I don’t. It’s not mine…” 

His voice drifted off and Jaskier began to wonder if the witcher was going to add something. It felt like he was poking his nose into something private, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“Whose is it?”

“A friend’s. I promised him years ago, I would gift him a better lute. I wasn’t able to keep that promise.”

“Oh.” Jaskier shifted uncomfortably and carefully added “What happened to him?” 

He didn’t really expect an answer, but Geralt ripped his gaze away from the instrument and looked at Jaskier. He seemed almost longing. But that couldn’t be right. Jaskier should stop trying to decipher his expressions, when he so clearly didn’t understand them. 

“He left. I’m not sure if he’ll come back. I hope he does.” Geralt’s next words hit him unexpectedly. “You should have it.” 

“What?” Geralt couldn’t have possibly meant it. He couldn’t truly be giving this beautiful instrument to Jaskier just like that. “What about your friend?” 

“I hope with all of my heart that he returns. But just in case, he doesn’t, I would like to make a new friend. It belongs to you.”

Jaskier’s heart swelled. He hadn’t thought he would be able to hold an instrument ever again. And now this stranger – his rescuer – promised him to heal his hands and gave him such a precious gift. 

“Thank you, dearest!” The words were out before he could stop them.  
He only realized what he had said, when Geralt made a strangled noise. He froze. 

“What did you just call me?” The witcher’s expressionless mask crumbled. He looked at Jaskier as if he had just died and come back from the dead.

“I-it just slipped out,” Jaskeir stuttered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” 

Jaskier shifted nervously. The eyes of the other man boring into him began to unnerve him. The intense stare only broke off, when a door opened and they both looked to see who it was. 

A blond girl stood in the doorway, staring at Jaskier. He wasn’t sure how to react. Maybe she thought he had broken in? After all, he was a stranger in her house. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said awkwardly. The notion that he in his battered state – or ever, really – could be a threat was ridiculous. The girl seemed to agree, for she reluctantly came closer. 

“I’m not.”

Jaskier could see Geralt clench and unclench his fists. “Jaskier, this is my daughter. Ciri.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “Ciri? Is it really you? You look so different!”

The girl’s emerald eyes brightened. “You remember me?”

“Of course! I played at your court years ago. You were a child then. You have grown so much.” 

The bright smile diminished slightly, like a cloud passing in front of the sun. “Is that all you remember?”

Jaskier blinked. “Well, yes. I had heard that you had disappeared after what happened in Cintra. No one had seen you since.”

Ciri’s smile disappeared completely. “Oh.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up. I am sorry for your loss.”

“That’s not it,” Ciri said quietly. Jaskier furrowed his brow, but he didn’t think it would be his place to pry. 

Geralt cleared his throat. “It’s really time for you to go see Yennefer. She will clear up this mess.”

Jaskier gave Ciri a small smile, before following after him into the room he had indicated before. A beautiful woman with dark hair was waiting for them. She had her arms crossed and gave Geralt a pointed look.

“What was taking you so long? You said, you’d be back yesterday. I was so close to coming after you myself.”

“There were complications,” Geralt said. 

The woman opened her mouth to reply, but then she saw Jaskier. She looked him up and down, eyes lingering on every injury. 

“I see. Come in.” 

She motioned towards a bed and Jaskier let himself sink down on it in relief. How long had it been since he had last slept in a real bed? 

Geralt who had watched his every movement and had looked ready to jump to his help, should he need it, turned back to the woman.

“Can you fix him?”

“I think I’ve proven often enough that I am a capable healer.”

“That’s not what I meant. Can you bring him back?,” Geralt stressed the last sentence. 

Jaskier furrowed his brows. Bring him back? He had just gotten here. Where was he supposed to go back to?

The woman sighed. “We’ll talk about this later. I think it would be best if you left while I work.”

The witcher hesitated, but with one final look at Jaskier, he obliged. 

As soon as the witcher had closed the door behind him, the woman’s posture relaxed. She uncrossed her arms and sat down on the bed next to Jaskier.  
While she inspected his wounds, she began talking. It reminded him strangely of the blond healer, Eligia, who had spoken to him back in his cell. 

“I am Yennefer.” 

“I figured as much,” Jaskier answered. “So you are the genius who created the hiding-spell?”

Yennefer’s lips twitched and her unusually violet eyes twinkled. “A genius? Finally someone who sees me for what I am.”

“I think the witcher thinks of you like that too.”

“I know.” She gently took his hands in hers. A soft glow emitted from her and Jaskier felt a strange tingling sensation run through him. “You should call him by his name. It’s Geralt.”

“I know. Geralt of Rivia.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow. “You remember his name?” 

“Who doesn’t? There are so many songs about him. I don’t know if that means much to you. But I am a bard. I like to keep track of my rivals’ songs.”

“Your rival?”

“Well, not exactly. I don’t know who wrote those songs. I have never heard their name or seen them.”

Yennefer nodded in contemplation and released Jaskier’s hands.  
Jaskier stared in amazement as the glow faded and his fingers shifted into a normal position. Hesitantly, he tried moving them. It didn’t hurt.  
He beamed at the sorceress, hoping it would convey how thankful he felt. Yennefer returned the smile, albeit smaller and worked on his other injuries. 

Jaskier hesitated, but it seemed like Yennefer was the first person who hadn’t looked at him in that strange way that Geralt and Ciri had used on him. While her glowing fingers closed the cuts on his face, he took a deep breath. 

“May I ask you a strange question?”

Yennefer sighed. “I was wondering how long it would take you. Go on.”

“The witcher – Geralt. He said some things to me I didn’t understand. Honestly, I don’t understand this whole situation! Why would he rescue me? I wasn’t a threat to his secret. I wouldn’t have been able to betray him to the Nilfgaardians. I didn’t know anything about this place before he told me about it. And he immediately allowed me to come here. What reason could he possibly have to do that?”

“He was worried about you. He couldn’t leave you to rot and die in a cell.”

“But why?” He leaned closer to Yennefer. “Why does he care? I have never truly met him in my entire life. And yet he knows my name and calls me his friend. What am I to him?”

Yennefer gave him a long look. “I am not sure you really want to know.” 

“I do! Sometimes he seems so sure about who I am supposed to be. And you and Ciri, you both asked me about what I remember, as if I should know you somehow. Even the black-clads were convinced I had spent my time travelling with Geralt, but I don’t have the memories to match.”

“Exactly.” Yennefer lifted her hands off his face and sat back. “If you truly want to know, I will tell you. This is your last chance to say that you don’t want that. Please think about it carefully.” 

It didn’t take him long to make his decision. “I want to know why all of this is happening to me. Why do people think I know Geralt?”

“It’s because you do. Or rather you did. You have lost all memory of him.”

“No, I didn’t. I remember seeing him and hearing about him. He was in a tavern in Posada. He is in all of those songs.”

“But you don’t remember ever speaking to him, do you?”

“I- no. Should I?”

“No, you shouldn’t. That’s the entire point.” It took her a while to find the right words. Jaskier awaited them anxiously. “You shouldn’t remember, because I cast a spell on you so that you wouldn’t.”

“You what?” He was thunderstruck. 

“I made you forget Geralt. I am surprised you didn’t banish him from your mind completely, but I guess it makes sense. Whether he meant to or not, Geralt has shaped the world around him. Him not having existed for you at all would have messed with the way you see the world too much.” 

Jaskier tried and failed to wrap his head around that. It wasn’t possible. Yennefer must be lying. She _must_ be. He had memories. He remembered his live without the Geralt in such clarity, it couldn’t be all made-up. Could it? But if it was true, then a lot of things would make sense. Why the Nilfgaardians had captured him. Why they had insisted he knew the witcher. Why Geralt had come for him. Why he had looked at him in that strange forlorn way, when he had flinched at his touch. 

“What have I forgotten?,” Jaskier asked , voice hoarse. “What am I to him that I don’t remember?”

“That is not my place to say. I can only tell you that the two of you were close. Closer than Geralt and I have ever been. But I think you are the one who could explain it better. The songs about Geralt, they weren’t written by some unknown rival of yours. They are yours. Your rival must have been another thing your mind made up to make sense of the songs being there, even if you couldn’t have been the one to have written them anymore.”

No. His mind refused to accept that. All those times he had heard the songs about the witcher’s adventures and wishing he had been the one who had been by his side, and it had actually been him? 

“That doesn’t make sense. If you were the one who did this to me, why are you telling me now?”

Yennefer looked away. “Because we are safe now.” She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. Jaskier could relate. “Damn it, I don’t know how to explain it! You would have been so much better at this. I wasn’t the one who came up with the idea. At least not alone. You were actually the one asking me to create the spell that would take away your memory.”

How could he have abandoned that life of adventure that he had yearned for for so long? Jaskier stilled. The adventure songs hadn’t been the only songs about the witcher. How often had he heard the sweet melodies of a love-song echoing through a market place or a tavern? If it truly was him who had written those beautiful love-ballads, what could have compelled him to leave that behind?

“Why would I do that? If what you said was true, why would I throw away that life?” 

His mouth went dry. The moment he said the words out loud, he realized the truth. The love songs – _his_ love songs? – most of them weren’t happy. They spoke of broken hearts and unrequited feelings. He thought of the way Geralt had reacted when he had accidently called him by an endearment. Jaskier had never been good at dealing with rejection, even when they only came from a fleeting romance. How hard must it have been to have someone he loved so wholeheartedly for years turn him away? Hard enough to want to forget about the heartbreak, surely.

But Yennefer’s answer was not what he expected.  
“To keep the rest of us safe. Nilfgaard was after us and you didn’t know how to fight. You would have been caught eventually. So you came up with the idea to forget about us, so you wouldn’t be able to betray us.”

Jaskier was quiet for a long time. He could feel Yennefer’s concerned look on him as he contemplated what she had told him.

He didn’t want to believe it. But a voice in the back of his mind told him that it was true. The voice grew louder and louder until it became impossible to ignore. Why else would Geralt have rescued him? Why would he have been questioned about him in the first place? 

Eventually he said “That sounds like an absolutely stupid plan. _I_ am the reason why I was captured? I might not know who I used to be, but old me sounds like a piece of shit.”

Yennefer laughed out loud, startled. “Oh, you certainly were a piece of shit.” The way she said it held no real bite. It sounded almost like an endearment from her. “At least in the beginning.” 

Jaskier grinned, but he quickly turned serious again. “But what does that mean for me? I mean _now-me_. Is this not who I really am? All of those memories I have now, are they just meaningless?”

“They aren’t.” Yennefer’s tone allowed no argument. “Your experiences, even if they didn’t truly happen, made you who you are. And you are now not less real than you were with your other memories, even if you were different then.” She gave him a small smile. “It’s like me and Ciri. I wanted a child of my own for so long. I was desperate for it. With Ciri I finally got that. Although differently than I had thought, it is still wonderful. And she is no less of a daughter for me even though I’m not her birth-mother. It is not less real.” She hesitated. “You have heard what Geralt had asked of me. He wants me to bring your memories back. The question is, do you want that too?”

Jaskier’s breath got stuck in his throat. Did he want that? He had oh so often dreamed about living a different life, but never once had it crossed his mind that that would mean losing what he had. No matter what he chose, it felt like he would be losing.

“Is it truly my choice?”

Yennefer nodded earnestly. “It is yours and yours alone. Just as it was the first time. I give you the option, but I will not force the decision on you. If you want your memories back, I will do my best to help you. If you chose not to, I will not judge you. It is up to you.”

**The first day of not knowing what exactly they are now**

Geralt was pacing. Why didn’t Yennefer want him to be there when she healed Jaskier? He needed to know he would be alright. Not just his body – Geralt knew physical injuries were no problem for Yennefer – but also his mind. 

Through the door he heard them talk. Suddenly it made sense why Yennefer had not allowed him in. How could she suggest that Jaskier could stay like this? Geralt’s heart stung at the thought of losing Jaskier again. He couldn’t keep listening to this. He needed to get away from the voices discussing the possibility that Jaskier might be lost to Geralt forever. 

He left the cottage and went to Roach.  
His hands needed something to do. Just waiting for the judgement was too much to bear. So he unsaddled Roach and wiped the sweat away that clung to her. 

“How dare Yennefer say such things?,” he snarled. “It’s not a question whether Jaskier should get his memories back. Whatever I have to do, I will help him! I will get him back to who he is meant to be.”

His hand stilled on Roach’s neck. A sharp pain stung in his chest. 

“He wouldn’t want to stay like this, would he? If I told him I would help, he wouldn’t send me away.”

But he couldn’t be sure about that. Jaskier as he was now had lived a relatively safe and normal life. 

“Jaskier didn’t want a normal life. He wanted to have adventures and see monsters.” 

But maybe the new one wouldn’t want that. He had been through enough already, had seen enough monsters. Why would he want to add to his memories of being tortured all of the times he had almost died? 

“Because of he was happier with us. He had a family. He wouldn’t give that up.”

But he had, hadn’t he? Jaskier had made so many sacrifices for him already. Geralt had heard his new songs. When travelling with them, he hadn’t been able to perform. With them gone, he had become a bard again. 

“Am I selfish that I want to take this from him?”

Roach’s only reply was a snort. Geralt heard the door open and close and someone coming nearer. He would recognize these footsteps anywhere. 

Roach nudged Geralt against the chest and he took the hint and turned around.  
Jaskier was still a few feet away from him, looking slightly unsure, but so much better. His bruises and cuts were gone. He wrung his hands nervously; Hands that didn’t look broken anymore. It was like a weight lifted from Geralt’s chest. 

He had been healed. And he had come looking for Geralt. Did that mean…?  
Gerlat did his best to stomp down the hope that welled up in him. He held his breath as he waited for Jaskier to say something; to call him dearest and tell him that he’s back.

“Do you speak to your horse often?”

Geralt’s hope burst. He couldn’t speak. He had known this was a possibility but, fuck it hurt. Jaskier had chosen to not remember him after all. Geralt pressed out a grunt. It was all he could get out at the moment.

Jaskier looked a bit uncertain for a moment. “Ah.” He scratched his ear. “Is that a yes? Because if it is, I’m not judging.”

The knife plunged deeper into Geralt’s chest. The old Jaskier wouldn’t have to guess what he meant. But the old Jaskier had left. For good. 

But that didn’t mean that Geralt would leave him. If this new Jaskier was all he would get, he would gladly take him, even if a piece of his heart would break off every time those beloved blue eyes would look at him without recognition. He wouldn’t abandon him; he would become Jaskier’s friend again. 

Geralt faltered when a realization hit him. He had absolutely no idea how to go about doing that, making Jaskier his firend. Last time, he didn’t have to do anything. He hadn’t wanted to. It had all been Jaskier’s doing. 

So what exactly had Jaskier been doing to befriend him? He had talked. A lot.  
That wasn’t really an option for Geralt. As much as he had to say, he couldn’t find the words.  
Jaskier had also tried to get to know him. He had asked about Geralt’s adventures, his favourite songs, his favourite colour, anything. So maybe that was a good place to start. 

“How was your life?” 

He cursed himself. That was not how one began a friendly conversation! A few years ago, Jaskier would have laughed at his pathetic attempt, but Geralt would have known he wasn’t bothered by it. Now, Jaskier looked taken aback. 

“Oh. Well, that’s a bit blunt.” He licked his lips. “My life has been… alright. I mean, my memories of my life had been alright. I guess, it never really happened, did it?”

Geralt swallowed. “I would still like to hear about it, if you want to share.”

Jaskier gave him a smile with a gleam in his eyes. “Are you asking a bard if he wants to share a story?”

Jaskier’s teasing tone felt so achingly familiar. Geralt pushed the pang it sent through him away and returned the smile. “I have heard the way bards tell their tales. Half of it is made up and the other half is exaggerated.”

Jaskier let out a laugh. “You got me there.”

Geralt got serious again. “I am asking _you_ to tell your story. Not as a bard. As you. I would like to get to know you.”

Geralt didn’t know what kind of reaction he expected. Maybe he had thought that Jaskier would close of at his request immediately. Say that Geralt had no right to his story.  
But after a brief pause, his smile deepened. “I would like to get to know you too. I had wanted to for years actually. Ever since I saw you that day in Posada.”

Geralt’s throat tightened as Jaskier told him about his life. About all the times he had just barely missed Geralt. It hurt to hear about this version of Jaskier’s life in which Geralt didn’t exist; not in the way he had before. But he listened to every word. This might just be the most important story he would ever hear. 

“And, well, that’s when I was taken in by the Nilfgaardians.” 

Jaskier’s voice wavered. Gerlat could see the unspoken plea in his eyes. _Don’t make me talk about what happened in the cell._  
Geralt didn’t. The injuries and Jaskier’s reactions to touches that came without warning had spoken for themselves. Jaskier must have seen that Geralt wasn’t going to pressure him. 

“So, what do you think?,” Jaskier asked and spread his arms awkwardly as if presenting himself. His smile became forced. “Was that a good life for me?” 

Geralt didn’t know how to answer. That life that Jaskier had told him about was exactly what Geralt had wanted for him for so many years. So often he had thought that Jaskier would be better off without him. But having heard how it would have been now, filled Geralt with a sense of utter wrongness. 

“Your life sounds –“ he broke off. What did it sound like? Was it good? Bad? Geralt had no right to judge. But he knew someone who would have had the right. “It sounds so unlike everything you would have wanted, before all of this.” 

Jaskier’s smile finally fell. He swallowed and nodded lightly. “I thought as much.” He looked at Geralt strangely and let his eyes roam over his entire face, as if he was trying to remember every single detail. “Was it worth it? What did I leave behind?” 

Everything. But he had also saved everything. Jaskier’s fucking sacrifice had been the reason why they had managed to evade the enemy for long enough to find safety. 

“I don’t know,” he said earnestly. “I don’t think I can be the judge of that.”

Jaskier furrowed his brows. “I think you are the only one who truly could judge. Yennefer told me about the spell I had asked for.” He got closer. “She also said I wanted you to take it. But you remember me. So, you have to know. Was it worth forgetting? And was it worth remembering?”

“I didn’t forget.”

“What?” Jaskier took a step back. 

“I didn’t forget,” Geralt repeated and looked Jaskier in the eye with emphasis. “I refused to throw away what we had.”

“And what was that exactly?” Jaskier’s eyes were blazing. “I might not remember you, but it sure seemed like you were fucking important to me. Important enough to sacrifice my memory for! And you didn’t even consider doing the same? I thought you had somehow found a way to regain your memory. But no. Apparently you had always planned on coming to my rescue as soon as you heard I was in trouble.”

Anger flamed up in Geralt. “Of course I did. I had told you, time and time again, I would come get you, no matter the cost. Saving your life when you were too reckless for your own good is what I do.” 

Jaskier stared at Geralt quietly. Geralt wished he knew what was happening in his mind, but the days when he had had any chance of guessing, had long since passed. 

“I lost my memory for nothing, then?,” Jaskier whispered. “You better have a damn good reason to have made my sacrifice meaningless.”

He had the best of reasons. How could he have left the memory of Jaskier behind? He had shaped so much of who Geralt was. Forgetting him would have meant forgetting himself. How would he have been able to take care of Ciri, when all he knew about taking care of someone came from how Jaskier had always taken care of him? How could he risk seeing Jaskier again by chance and not remembering who he was – not knowing that this was the man how meant more to him than life itself? 

He averted his eyes. “It wasn’t meaningless. Your plan had worked exactly how you had wanted it to. You protected your friends by forgetting. I protected my friend by remembering.”

Jaskier tilted his head. His eyes went soft. “Friends? Is that all that we were?” 

Geralt choked. They had been friends and it had meant the world to him. But it hadn’t been the only thing they could have been, had they have had more time. They could have had everything – _be_ everything to each other - if they hadn’t have wasted the time they have had. Geralt had wanted to be so much more.  
He still did, but he couldn’t say the words. He had missed his chance and this wasn’t the Jaskier he wanted to say those precious little words to, when he didn’t even know who this Jaskier really was. 

Jaskier seemed to sense his conflict, because he pressed on. “Yennefer didn’t want to tell me what we were. She said I should ask you. But when I was interrogated, some Nilfgaardians seemed to think that we were something else than friends. Lovers.”

“We weren’t,” Geralt sputtered and it felt like his heart was breaking all over again. “It doesn’t matter.”

But oh, how it did. It mattered more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't tell whether this already counts as comfort or if this is still angst/ hurt.
> 
> And I am really sorry, but I probably won't be able to post the final chapter tomorrow. I will try, of course, but I am going to have a seriously stressfull day and I have to rewrite a lot of the final chapter and I probably won't have much time for that. You deserve it to be as good as I can manage, and I'd rather give you what you deserve a day too late than rush it all tomorrow and be bad.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a lovely day <3


	16. You Are Safe, You’re Here With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, I didn't plan on making this chapter that long, but it got a bit out of hand. I still hope you enjoy it :)

**You Are Safe, You’re Here With Me**

Jaskier remained quiet. Did it really not matter what they had been? It shouldn’t. At least not to Jaskier. It wouldn’t mean anything to him anyway. Whoever he had been before, he wasn’t that person anymore.  
Or was he? He had no way of knowing. Just as he had no way of knowing who Yennefer, Ciri and Geralt had been to him. Somehow, finding out what they could become to him, didn’t feel like enough for Jaskier. There had been an entire lifetime he had spent with them and that was now lost to him. 

All of his life as he remembered it, he had dreamed about it being different. And now the chance to change it presented itself right in front of him. So why did he hesitate? 

Because it was terrifying. Because his life apparently had been bad enough that he had thought the only way to keep the people around him safe had been to leave everything behind. Did he really want to get back to that life? 

His eyes wandered back to the cottage. A home, he had thought, when he had seen it for the first time just hours before. He hadn’t had a home in a long time. His cell had been the only steady place he had had. And there had been no people – no friends or lovers – he could have considered home.  
He looked back to Geralt. The man who had saved him. Who had refused to forget about him. Had he been his home? 

“I want to come back home,” Jaskier whispered. 

A shadow passed over Geralt’s face. His voice was rough when he answered. “Of course. I am sorry. I had promised you you wouldn’t have to get to know me. And you are better now. Just tell me where your home is and I will bring you there. Or Yennefer can do that, if you would feel safer with her.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes in confusion. He had been so absorbed in his musings that it took him a moment to realize how his words might have come across. 

“Oh! No, no, I meant this.” He gestured around; to the house, to Geralt and the horse. “If this was my home I would like to come back. The way I was before.”

Geralt’s face was still as stone, before the mask slowly cracked. The tiniest hint of a smile twitched his lips. 

“You mean it?”

“With all my heart. I want to know who I was.”  
And who this man was whose golden eyes brightened with Jaskier’s words. 

They sat around a table; all except Ciri, who they had sent to bed. Geralt and Jaskier were leaned forward, as if they could miss what Yennefer said if they didn’t get as close to her as they could. 

“Are you really sure about this, Jaskier?” Her eyes darted to Geralt. “You are not doing this because anyone is pressuring you?”

Jaskier nodded. “This is my choice.”

But by Melitele, however sure he might be, he was terrified. If Yennefer noticed, she didn’t react. 

“I promised you I would help you in this,” she said. “But it’s not going to be easy. I created the spell in a way that no sorcerer could detect or break it. That includes me.”

Geralt growled. “You took his memory without knowing how to get it back?”

Yennefer remained calm, but her eyes got slightly frostier. “We have been over this often enough Geralt. I told you back then and I tell you now: it was for Ciri’s safety. And Jaskier knew the risk he was taking.”

Geralt clenched his teeth, but didn’t argue. 

“As I was saying, I can’t break the spell with magic. But there might still be a way for us to recover your memories, Jaskier.”

He held his breath. His hands were pressed tensely against his thigh underneath the table. 

“The thing you have to know about chaos is that it is always a taking and giving. There has to be a balance. Jaskier’s old memories couldn’t just leave him without him gaining new ones. But they also couldn’t be destroyed completely, or the new memories would have no foundation.” She took a second to gather her thoughts. “For the spell to work, there had to be a trigger. Or a medium, if you want. It would start the spell and suck the memories away. Like I said, the memories aren’t destroyed. They are stored inside the medium.”

Jaskier perked up. “So when I see the medium, I will get my memories back?”

Yennefer nodded.

“Then where is it?,” Jaskier asked, excitement making him speak faster. “What is it?”

Yennefer leaned back. “That’s the problem. I don’t know what it is.”

“How can you not know?,” Geralt asked. “You cast the spell.”

“But Jaskier is the one who had to trigger it. I told you I didn’t force him to do anything. Should he have decided the last second, while I cast the spell that he didn’t want to do this after all, it would not have worked. He was the one who made the final choice.” 

“But didn’t I tell you what the medium was?,” Jaskier chimed in before Geralt could open his mouth again. “You must have seen me carry something or maybe I mentioned it?”

“You didn’t. I don’t think you wanted to risk one of us coming back for you and reverse the spell. And it doesn’t necessarily have to be an object. The medium could have been anything. As long as you willingly thought about it with the intention of triggering the spell, that was it.” 

Jaskier ran a hand over his face and inhaled deeply. “So, basically we know that my memory is stored somewhere inside of something. Great. That really narrows it down.”

“It wouldn’t have been just anything,” Geralt said quietly. 

“How do you know?”

“Because I knew you. You wouldn’t have just picked a random object. It must have been something close to your heart.”

“Well, then I don’t think I will be of any help,” Jaskier huffed. “I don’t remember anything that was important to me before.”

Did he imagine the witcher wince?

“You would remember it in some way,” Yennefer said. “The medium is connected to your memories after all. It can’t be something you will have forgotten completely.”

“So like my lute? It was the most important thing I owned.” His heart clenched painfully and his face fell. “Not that it would make any difference now.”

“What do you mean?,” Geralt asked. 

A lump formed in Jaksier’s throat and he looked down when he felt tears burn in his eyes. “I… I don’t have it anymore. It is broken. Cahir broke it. Right in front of me.”

The others didn’t say anything. Of course they didn’t. It was silly to grieve for an old instrument. But when he looked up, he saw the unashamed pity that was written across Yennefers face. Geralt on the other hand looked shocked.

“He did what?” His voice was laced with rage. 

“It’s not important,” Jaskier hastily said, though the lie stung. “It was old anyway.”

“It was a gift from Geralt.” They all spun around when Ciri’s quiet voice came from the door that was slightly ajar.

Yennefer went over to her. “Did you eavesdrop? We told you to go to bed.”

“I am not a child anymore. And I want to help Jaskier. I miss him.” 

Yennefer’s voice faltered. “We all do. Geralt will figure this out. Now come on, off to bed with you.”

Yennefer shot one last look at the two men, before ushering Ciri away and following her. 

Jaskier was the first to speak. “Is it true? Was it really a gift from you?”

Geralt hummed. “You had smashed your old lute when you hit a Basilisk with it.”

Jaskier stared at him. He couldn’t determine whether he was joking or not. “I’m sorry, I did what?” 

Geralt made a gruff gesture with his hand. “It’s not important now. Your lute as a medium probably wouldn’t have worked anyway. If you had taken it with you, it would have brought your memory back immediately, wouldn’t it?”

Jaskier shrugged. “I am still not sure how this works. You know more of magic than I do.”

Geralt contemplated him for a moment. “What about rosemary?”

Jaskier stared at him. “Rosemary? That means absolutely nothing to me. Should it?”

“No. Forget it.”

Jaskier felt an uncomfortable sting in his chest, as he saw Geralt deflate almost unnoticeably.  
How many things that had been important to him, had he forgotten? He chewed on the inside of this cheek. He didn’t know what to do. There hadn’t been many things that had been important to him. Sure, he had been quite materialistic back when he could still afford it. But the war had made it redundant to get attached to one’s possessions. It had taken all of Jaskier’s care to keep his lute with him for as long as he had. 

“What if it’s not an object then?,” he said, more to fill the silence than because he actually believed it. “Yennefer said that it could have been anything. So what if it is something else. Like a person? No that would be strange. I hope I didn’t do that. What about a place? I remember travelling around a lot. And if I used to be your companion, maybe some of the places overlap?” 

It wasn’t exactly a brilliant idea, but it was the best one they had. 

They had decided that Geralt and Jaskier would leave this safehold the next morning. It had been hard for Jaskier to fall asleep. He was brimming with restless energy. He needed to get out in the world; too long he had been kept away in a cell. And now, although this place was beautiful and more importantly safe, he was still cut off from the rest of the continent as long as he stayed here. He didn’t even know where exactly ‘here’ was.  
Another part of him bristled at the thought of going out there again. What awaited him was a war-ridden world. But what did he have to lose? 

Everything, the voice in the back of his head supplied. He could lose everything. No, not _could_. It was his very goal to lose who he was now. But he also had everything to gain.

Amidst his tempest-tossed thoughts stood Geralt, a bastion of calm. He had seemed so sure that Jaskier should get his memories back. For him it wasn’t even a question. Jaskier wished he could have his resolve. But as it were, he was still torn. He had to rely on Geralt’s certainty until he found his own. 

Parting with Ciri and Yennefer had been strange. As Yennefer created a new portal outside the cottage to take Geralt and Jaskier away, he wrung his hands, not knowing what he should do. 

Geralt had told Yennefer to take good care of his horse. Yennefer had snorted and replied that Roach would be happy as long as she didn’t have to go through another portal again. Geralt had shook his head at her teasing tone and embraced both her and Ciri. 

Jaskier didn’t think, it would be right for him to hug the women. He only knew Ciri as a child and he had met Yennefer for the first time yesterday. He made an uncertain move towards them that faltered as he realized they didn’t really know where they stood now. How familiar would be too familiar? He didn’t want to seem rude by denying them a proper farewell, but he also didn’t want to make them uncomfortable. 

Yennefer didn’t seem to be bothered by his indecision. She nodded at him as a goodbye. Jaskier returned the gesture, grateful that Yennefer had taken the choice out of his hands.  
Ciri by contrast flung herself into his arms. 

“Come back to us.” Her voice was muffled as she pressed her face against his chest. 

Jaskier returned the embrace. He might not remember what Ciri had meant to him before, but he did remember the little princess crying into his chest when her parents had died. She looked so much stronger now, but still she didn’t deserve the pain of losing someone else. 

“I will.” 

For better or for worse. 

Ciri pulled away again and smiled at him. Geralt cleared his throat behind him, a clear sign that it was time to leave.

Jaskier adjusted the strip of his new lute on his back. He had debated whether he should really take the instrument with him. It wasn’t as if he was going to perform anywhere. But the familiar weight of an instrument calmed him. No matter who he would be at the end of this; whether he’d stay the same or change back, he would still have his music. 

The colours swirled around him again, as he and Geralt walked through the portal.  
Geralt had been right. The first time had been worse. Now that Jaskier knew what awaited him, he could truly appreciate the beauty of it. Not only that, but knowing that if they ran into any danger, they could just summon a portal back, calmed his racing heart. 

The colours disappeared around them and made way for a grey sky full of storm clouds.  
Jaskier shivered. After the warmth and brightness of the hide-away, this sudden change of weather came completely unexpected. He shuddered as the rain hit his face and quickly soaked his clothes.

“Are you alright?” Geralt eyed him from the side. 

“Of course.” Jaskier slung his arms around himself. He wished he hadn’t left Geralt’s cloak at the cottage. “But could we maybe find a place where we don’t get any more wet?” 

There weren’t even trees around them to take cover from the rain. Only cliffs reaching high above them that did nothing to keep them dry.

Geralt hummed and led the way. Every once in a while, Jaksier would feel his eyes on him and every time he shivered, Geralt would start to move towards him, as if he wanted to shield him from the rain with his body, but decided against it.

They didn’t have to walk for long, until they saw the suspension bridge that led over the steep ravine. It didn’t exactly inspire confidence. Jaskier peered over the edge down the ravine. It would be a long fall. 

“You know, when I came here decades ago, I already thought this bridge was stupid.” Jaskier hoped his voice sounded less apprehensive than he felt. “But now it just looks like it’s going to break as soon as you set foot on it. How old is this thing?”

“You remember being in Posada?” If Jaskier was correct, Geralt sounded exited at this revelation. “Then we have to cross this bridge. That tavern on the other side is important. We could be so close.” 

Without hesitation, Geralt stepped onto the bridge. Jaskier half expected it to break that very moment, but it didn’t even creak. 

“The bridge has been sturdy for decades,” Geralt said and turned to Jaskier when he noticed his doubts. “It’s going to hold. Trust me.”

Geralt held out a hand and Jaskier took it after a brief moment of hesitation. This was embarrassing. He wasn’t a child that couldn’t walk across a bridge without having his hand held. 

He took a step and immediately slipped on the wet planks. Out of reflex, Jaskier clutched Geralt’s hand as tightly as he could. The bridge began to swing to the side.

“Geralt?” His voice was tense. He couldn’t do this. He had always hated heights and this was not making it better. His breathing was ragged and his eyes squeezed shut.

A hand found his waist and kept him upright. 

“You are safe, Jaskier. I am here with you. I am not going to let you fall.” At Geralt’s words, Jaskier opened his eyes hesitantly. Geralt looked at him with such conviction. “You have to breathe, Jaskier.”

He nodded and took deep breaths together with Geralt. Slowly he calmed down. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled. 

“Do you think you can make it across? I am not going to force you. We will find another way, if we have to.”

Could he make it across? He had done it before, hadn’t he? Granted, it hadn’t been raining then and the bridge had looked far more stable than it did now. But back then he hadn’t had Geralt by his side who steadied him and talked him through his panic. 

Jaskier nodded. “I trust you,” he said and was surprised when he realized that he really meant it. 

Geralts eyes softened impossibly at his words. Carefully, he lifted his hand from Jaskier’s waist. 

Their walk was painfully slow, but the bridge didn’t swing anymore and whenever Jaskier faltered, Geralt was there to hold him. 

He breathed a sigh of relief, when his feet finally felt solid ground again. He stepped away from the edge of the platform immediately.  
Geralt looked at him with what must be concern. Jaskier still wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought that maybe the witcher wasn’t as expressionless as he had thought at first. If he strained himself, he could make out some shifts in his expression. 

Jaskier gave him a shaky smile. “Let’s go inside. I really don’t want to stay out here any longer than I have to.”

Geralt hummed in agreement.  
When they entered the tavern, Jaskier haltered in surprise. He had seen his fair share of taverns in this war-time. None of them had been so full and dare he say, normal as this one. It almost looked the same as it had when he had been here the last time. 

He exchanged a look with Geralt, who didn’t seem to share his surprise. Maybe he had heard the tavern-noises on the outside, while Jaskier had been to focussed on making it over here. 

“This place is practically a refuge. It remains untouched,” Geralt explained. “They had built the bridge to make it impossible for the drunk patrons to leave betimes. Now it makes it impossible for multiple heavily armoured soldiers to cross it at the same time.” 

During his explanation, Geralt’s eyes wandered across the room, until they found what he must have been looking for. He made a beeline for the dark corner and Jaskier trailed after him. He sat down and waited. 

Geralt stared at him intensely. Jaskier writhed nervously. 

“So, uhm. We’ve been here before,” he said lamely. 

Geralt leaned forward. “What do you remember?” 

Jaskier’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I remember you. Sitting here and looking like you would punch anyone who came close.”

“And what did you do?” Geralt was as tense as a bowstring right before it released an arrow.

Jaskier huffed. “I walked towards you. And then I saw your face and walked away. No offence. You have a lovely face.” 

Geralt deflated. The sight sent a twinge through Jaskier’s heart.

“What does this place mean to you?,” he asked cautiously. 

Geralt furrowed his brow. “For me, this is the place where someone didn’t turn away in fear and hate, when they saw me. This is where you decided to follow me to write better songs.”

Geralt sounded so lost. It was strange to see the man he had built up as a hero in his mind for years, look at him as if he wouldn’t be able to carry on on his own. 

Jaskier felt the irrepressible urge in him to get Geralt’s mind off those dark thoughts and see his small but unmistakably there smile again. He wanted to reach out and take his hand, but he wasn’t sure if Geralt would appreciate his touch. 

So instead he did, what he did best: Perform. He perked up, as if he had just come to a great conclusion and started talking.  
“Wait- my songs. I have heard them. I mean, I remember hearing those songs about the White Wolf. They are famous.” His eyes started to gleam in excitement. “I didn’t realize that before, but does that mean that I am better than Marx?”

He had only said it to fill the silence and hopefully distract Geralt. He certainly didn’t expect an answer from Geralt, but the witcher snorted. 

“Valdo Marx? Of course you are better than that bastard. Always have been. Even in your new memories, you must have known that.”

A warmth blossomed in Jaskier’s chest that had nothing to do with finding out that he had bested his rival. 

“You like the songs?”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “I got used to them after a while.”

Jaskier’s smile brightened. Something in Geralt’s voice made it sound like the highest praise, even though it was no conventional compliment by any means. And to hear it here, in this tavern where he had been shouted at for his performance made it so much more meaningful to Jaskier. 

This place didn’t bring back his memory. But Jaskier couldn’t shake the feeling that he was beginning to gain something else that might be even more precious. 

They sat together, Jaskier ranting about his rival, less out of spite and more to see Geralt’s eyes shine with amusement. 

Their one-sided conversation got interrupted by a burly man in an apron, who approached them. 

“Are you just here to talk or are you actually going to buy something?, My inn doesn’t allow loitering.” he barked gruffly and frowned at them. 

Jaskier winced at his tone. His heart sped up and pressed his hands that he had been gesturing wildly with before, against the table so hard that the white of his bones shone through.  
He knew it was absurd, but he half expected punches to follow the harsh words. He couldn’t repress the tremble that shook him. 

“What’s wrong with you?,” the man asked and looked at him disparagingly. 

Questions, always questions and angry voices and pain and –

A hand found Jaskier’s. He looked up and saw Geralt who had reached out to him, give him a concerned look.  
Jaskier wasn’t alone in this. Geralt had promised, he would keep Jaskier safe and he trusted him.  
Slowly, the trembling seized. Jaskier turned his hand under Geralt’s and squeezed it lightly. He hoped Geralt understood it as the thank you it was.

Geralt nodded subtly at Jaskier and said to the other man “We would like to two rooms for the night. My friend is still cold from the rain, so throw in an extra blanket for him too.” 

With his free hand he produced some coin from a pocket Jaskier hadn’t seen before and put it on the table.

The man with the apron ogled the coin critically. “Sorry, mate, that will only get you one room.” 

Geralt cursed. “How about-“

“No,” the innkeeper said sternly. “These are no times to haggle One room. Nothing more. Take it or leave it.” 

Geralt’s jaw clenched tightly. He looked as if he wanted to protest again, but Jaskier chimed in. “It’s fine. We’ll take the room.”

Satisfied the innkeeper nodded and fished out a key from his apron. He handed it to Jaskier who took it quickly, before the innkeeper could change his mind again.  
Geralt’s glower must have been enough to make the innkeeper keep the comments he undoubtedly wanted to make to himself, for the man left with one nervous glance at the witcher. 

“Well then,” Jaskier said awkwardly, once they were alone again. As alone as one could be in a tavern. “Should we go to our room then?”

“It’s _your_ room,” Geralt said and took the hand that had held Jaskier’s away. “You don’t have to share with me.”

Jaskier looked down at his now empty hand. He thought about being alone for the night in an inn full of people he didn’t know, of people who didn’t seem to be very friendly.  
They had yelled and thrown things at him the last time he had been here alone. 

He looked back at Geralt, whose face betrayed no emotion, but who had promised Jaskier that he would let no harm come to him. 

“I don’t mind sharing,” Jaskier said more casually than he felt. He stood from the table and waved the key through the air. “So, what do you say? Shouldn’t we at least take a look?”

Geralt grunted but relented. Jaskier felt him follow close after him, as he climbed up the stairs and entered their room. 

Geralt came in after and Jaskier could feel the nervousness radiating off him, though his expression didn’t change. 

“So, this is it. Cozy,” Jaskier said and carefully laid his lute against the wall. Thankfully, the case had kept the instrument safe from the rain. 

He let himself fall down on the bed and sighed with closed eyes. It wasn’t the softest bed he had ever laid in and the blanket emitted a musty odour, but it was a bed and after the nerve-wrecking ordeal of leaving the safe haven he had just found and face the world again, he was infinitely thankful for this chance to rest somewhat comfortably. 

He opened his eyes again, when he noticed that Geralt hadn’t moved. He still stood next to the door, looking at the bed uncomfortably.

“Is something wrong?,” Jaskier asked, suddenly unsure. He shouldn’t have laid down on the bed as if it was natural for him to do so. Geralt had been the one to pay for the room and had probably expected to be the one to take the bed. Jaskier had no right to claim it for himself like this. He hadn’t been thinking.  
Uncertainly he stood back up. The witcher’s expression almost mirrored his. 

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t afford anything better than this,” Geralt finally said when the uncomfortable silence had dragged on for too long. 

Jaskier furrowed his brow, but let out a quiet laugh. “Honestly, I was half prepared to camp in the woods. I don’t have any coin with me at all.” He bit his lip. “I am going to repay you, of course. Once I earn some money again.”

The thought of playing in front of people, of risking their scorn and angry reactions, made his fists clench. 

Geralt took a step towards him, but haltered. 

“You don’t have to repay me.” He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. It seemed as if there was something else, he wanted to add, but apparently he changed his mind and settled on “You should rest now. We have a long journey ahead. And I can’t promise that you will have a bed for most of it.” 

Jaskier nodded and sent Geralt a shy smile. He took off his rain-soaked clothes, suddenly self-conscious, though Geralt turned his back to him, giving him his privacy. Although the room was dark, Jaskier wasn’t sure, whether that would make any difference for Gerlat’s eyes, so he was thankful for his thoughtfulness.

Back in Yennefer’s cottage, Jaskier had seen how Geralt’s eyes had lingered on his thin frame, when the sorceress had given him new clothes and how he had pressed his lips together as if he had to forcibly keep himself from saying anything about how skinny Jaskier had become. Jaskier didn’t need to be told, he knew well enough that he hadn’t eaten properly in far too long.  
Geralt had managed not to say anything and Jaskier was thankful for it, but when they had eaten, Geralt had made sure that Jaskier didn’t leave the table hungry. 

Now though, Jakier’s ribs became prominent, unhidden by any cloth. He quickly went back to bed and threw the blanket over him to shield himself from the view, even though Geralt’s eyes were still averted. 

Geralt must have heard Jaskier climbing into bed, for he turned around, slow enough to give Jaskier a chance to protest, should he still not want Geralt to see him. Geralt took him in, making sure Jaskier was comfortable, before he hummed in satisfaction. 

Jaskier closed his eyes and cuddled into the pillow, when he heard the soft thud. He opened his eyes again in confusion and peered over the edge of the bed. Geralt, still in his wet clothes had lied down on the floor.

“What are you doing?,” Jaskier asked into the dark of the room. 

“Sleeping.”

“On the floor?”

Gerlat hummed affirmatively. 

“Oh, no.” Jaskier threw the blanket back and scooted over on the bed, petting the space next to him. “You do not pay for this room and then spend the night on the hard floor.”

He couldn’t see Geralt’s face in the dark, but he could hear the discomfort in his voice. “You do not have to share a bed with me out of obligation. I am fine sleeping on the floor. I have had worse.”

“So have I,” Jaskier whispered and silence filled the room once more, only interrupted by Jaskier’s beating heart, as he thought of the nights spend in agony on the stone cold floor of his cell, when he had been to hurt and exhausted to make it back to the cot. He took a shuddering breath. “I don’t mind sharing the bed. I-I think I would actually prefer it to being alone.”

It took Jaskier a lot of effort to admit it out loud. He could feel the heat of embarrassment rise into his cheeks. It had been a stupid thing to say. 

But Geralt slowly stood from the floor and Jaskier could feel the dip of the mattress as he sat down on it. Still, Geralt hesitated. “Are you sure about this?” 

“I am.” After a heartbeat, Jaskier added “And you don’t have to keep your drenched clothes on, just to make me more comfortable.” The heat in his cheeks got even hotter as he stuttered “It’s fine, really.”

There was another moment of silence, before Geralt slowly lifted his shirt over his head. In the dark, Jaskier could only see his silhouette, but it still felt like an invasion of privacy to watch Geralt, after he had turned around to let Jaskier disrobe.  
Jaskier turned onto his other side. He only risked a glance over his shoulder, when he felt Geralt settle on the bed again. 

Geralt was lying on the very edge of the bed, so that he wouldn’t be able to accidently brush Jaskier and he looked too frigid to possibly be comfortable.

Jaskier scooted further into his own side of the bed to give Geralt more space. Geralt didn’t take up the silent offer, but Jaskier could feel his eyes on him.  
A sudden breeze that blew through the cracks in the window made Jaskier shudder. 

“Are you still cold?,” Geralt asked quietly. 

Jaskier nodded, unsure whether Geralt would be able to see it, but unable to speak as he had to clench his teeth to keep them from clattering. 

Geralt hesitated for a moment, before scooting a bit closer. Jaskier could feel the uncertainty in this silent invitation. He himself felt no different.  
He shouldn’t be doing this. Cuddling up to a man that was still practically a stranger to him was a bad idea. But he offered warmth and comfort and for some inexplicable reason, Jaskier trusted him to be good to him. 

He closed in to Geralt who let out a long, shuddering breath, as Jaskier buried his face in his neck hesitantly. The long strands of hair tickled him, but it was warm and safe. He felt Geralt’s arms gently embracing him. Geralt didn’t pull him closer or cage him in. He left him the possibility to turn away, should he choose to do so.  
Jaskier didn’t. Instead he rested one of his hands against the witcher’s chest, letting his slow and steady heartbeat lull him to sleep.

They woke up in a tangled mess of legs. As they stood up and put on their clothes again, neither of them spoke of the night before. It wasn’t an awkward silence though. It was filled with mutual understanding that there was no need to mention the way they had held each other close against the cold of the night. 

They had spent the morning planning where to go next and as soon as the sun had broken through the clouds and the rain had passed, they were off on the road again; off to find the next place that had meant something to the two of them before.

They travelled like this for weeks. With every new place they reached, Geralt’s hope seemed to dim, although he still looked at Jaskier as if he could save him. It broke Jaskier’s heart to see the lines on his face deepen, whenever Jaskier had to shake his head no at the question if he remembered anything new. 

“Why are we leaving Lindenvale already?,” Jaskier asked. “Didn’t we spent any time there?”

Jaskier had hoped for a warm bed at an inn, should there still be one. But they had passed through the village without stopping. Jaskier had to admit, it wasn’t much of a village anymore. The entire place was in ruins. Geralt had explained to him that the villagers had not exactly been rich when they had been here the last time. Most of the houses had been destroyed then already. The years of war mustn’t have been to kind to them either. 

“We did. But only briefly,” Geralt answered. “The important part came after we had left.”

“So where are we going exactly?”

“A wine cellar.”

“Wine?” Jaskier grinned and in a spur of the moment bumped into Geralt playfully with his shoulder. “Why didn’t you say so?”

In his own subdued way, Geralt returned the mischievous smile. “You’ll see.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence until Geralt stopped in front of a pile of rubble and looked at him expectantly. Jaskier wasn’t sure what he was supposed to make of the debris in front of him.  
It looked like this place had been like this for a long time. The stones were almost completely covered by vines and wildflowers.

“So this is it?,” he asked confused. “You know, when you said we were going to a wine cellar I had imagined something a bit different.”

Geralt flinched. His golden eyes stared at Jaskier in shock. Jaskier got closer to him, suddenly worried. 

“Are you alright? What is it?”

Geralt took a deep breath and averted his eyes. “It’s nothing.” 

Jaskier didn’t answer. The shock in Geralt’s eyes had turned into a deep sitting ache. 

“It’s nothing,” Geralt repeated and Jaskier had the feeling he wasn’t the one Geralt tried to convince. Geralt hesitated. “Except, that’s the same thing you said when we came here the first time.” 

“Well, it’s good to know that my priorities have stayed the same,” Jaskier tried to lighten the mood, but the joke fell flat even in his own ears. 

This was yet another crumbling piece of hope. How many disappointments would they face more until they had to accept that they wouldn’t be able to find the medium? Judging from Geralt’s grim expression he would not accept defeat. But he looked so lost. 

Jaskier looked away, let his eyes roam about the rubble again. He tried to will himself to remember this place, but nothing about it stirred any memory. He sighted. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said quietly. 

Geralt must have noticed how crestfallen he had looked, for he gently said “It’s not your fault. We will figure this out.” 

Geralt seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat, before stooping down and plucking a wildflower.  
Jaskier’s breath got caught in his throat and he looked at the flower in wonderment, as Geralt held it out to him. 

At Jaskier’s hesitance, Geralt let his hand sink again. He almost looked self-conscious. 

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t think,” Geralt said roughly. “Years ago, after we left this place, you mentioned something. You said that if you couldn’t make people happy with your songs, you would try with flowers.” He looked away. “I don’t have any songs. I thought … forget it. It wasn’t my place.” 

Jaskier carefully plucked the flower out of Geralt’s lowered hand. He closed his eyes smelling it, before putting it in his hair. 

“Thank you, Geralt. I love it.”

Geralt didn’t reply, but he did give him a tiny smile. Jaskier’s heart sped up. 

“We should probably go look for a place to set up camp. This here is no good and you deserve some rest,” Geralt said and Jaskier watched him turn away. 

Jaskier lifted his hands and let his fingers brush tenderly over the blossom in his hair, before following him. 

Weeks turned into months and the flowers that blossomed on the edge of the road began to wither. It was not yet cold enough to worry about not being able to sleep outdoors, but Jaskier was starting to appreciate how easily a witcher-sign could create a fire. It would surely come in handy for warmth, if they continued like this for much longer. 

For now, Jaskier was only thankful for the light it granted as they sat around a fire Geralt had lit for them. In fascination Jaskier watched the light of the flames dance across Geralt’s face creating a beautiful, soft contrast to the sharp edges of the shadows of the evening. In this light, Geralt’s eyes looked soft, like honey. 

They discussed as they had so often before, where they should go next. They have been travelling for months by now. Every time Jaskier thought, Geralt couldn’t possibly come up with a new place that had apparently been important to them, the witcher surprised him anew. 

“We have travelled together for decades, Jaskier. Believe me, we have seen many places together.”

“Well sure,” Jaskier said and rolled his eyes. 

He wanted to get his memory back. He really did. But this fruitless wandering made is hard for him to keep that goal in mind. The longer they spend roaming the continent together, the more he pushed their mission to the back of his mind and just enjoyed Geralt’s company.  
The witcher didn’t seem to have the same problem. Though every so often, Geralt looked at him as if he started to like this Jaskier as well, instead of wanting to get rid of him for the person he had been before. 

“But were they really _all_ that important?”

Geralt hummed. Over time, Jaskier had gotten better at understanding the different intonations. This hum clearly said that Geralt thought Jaskier foolish for asking that question.

“No, I’m serious, Geralt. Take the city we are travelling to now: it’s a calm place. What could have possibly happened there that would have been so important for us?”

Geralt stiffened. “You told me I wasn’t a monster.” 

Jaskier waited. Geralt didn’t elaborate. 

“That’s it? I could tell you that now.” 

Now, that he had finally managed to shake off the fears that had haunted him for months. No matter how much he had started to like Geralt and how safe he felt with him, every once in a while the images of the shifter would creep up on him again. 

Geralt’s hands clenched into fists as he kept his eyes stoically on the fire. 

“Believe me it meant a lot.” He stayed silent for a few heartbeats. “I was in a bad place. I had done something horrible. And you just stood there, looked me in the eye and said that you didn’t think I was a monster.”

“What had you done?,” Jaskier asked hesitantly. 

Not that it mattered. It shouldn’t matter. He trusted Geralt. But he had never seen him fight. They had stayed as far away from trouble as possible, avoiding any areas that they knew where occupied by Nilfgaard. He had only ever seen this caring Geralt who spent all of this time in devotion to his friend. He couldn’t imagine what could have been so horrible that Geralt would call himself a monster. 

A hint of pain flashed through Geralt’s eyes and his breathing got heavier. Guilt crashed over Jaskier.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

Geralt hadn’t make Jaskier talk about his torture and he shouldn’t have to share this with him either, if it brought him any pain.

But Geralt took a deep breath and looked away from the fire and to Jaskier. “In this city I had fought a Doppler. They are usually kind shapeshifters who can take on the appearance of other people.”

Jaskier’s blood turned to ice at Gerlat’s words. _Shapeshifters_. He had thought he had left the horrors of that monster behind him for good. 

“This shifter looked like you,” Geralt continued, without noticing Jaskier’s building distress. “And I killed them.”

The fire flared up and suddenly Jaskier didn’t see soothing honey- eyes anymore. He saw them ablaze with rage. His throat restricted and he backed away. 

“Jaskier?,” Geralt’s worried voice barely reached him through the choir of voices screaming at him in his mind to run.  
Geralt came closer.  
The shifter’s hands around Jaskier’s throat. He couldn’t breathe. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt reached out for him and Jaskier jerked back violently. 

“Stay away from me!,” Jaskier whimpered. “You’re not him. You- you can’t hurt me anymore…” 

“I’m not going to. Jaskier believe me. I am your friend.”

That was what the shifter had said too.  
But somehow now the words didn’t sound wrong. Not like they had when the shifter had said them. There had been no sincerity in them, back then, not like there was now.

“Jaskier, you have to breathe for me. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but you have to breathe.”

Jaskier tried to listen. The shifter hadn’t sounded so concerned. He hadn’t tried to calm him. Hadn’t been there for him. Not like Geralt was.  
Ever so slowly, his breathing returned and his heart’s speed returned to normal. 

Neither of them spoke a word. Jaskier cursed himself silently. He had thought, he had left those episodes of panic behind him. It had been weeks since he had last had one of them.  
Geralt must be thinking similar thoughts, for though Jaskier’s panic receded, the worry didn’t leave Geralt’s face. He drew back and looked at Jaskier as if he was prepared for him to break down again. And as if Geralt would be the one to blame. 

Jaskier swallowed and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Thank you. For helping me through this.”

Geralt averted his eyes, brows furrowed as he stared into the fire. “Don’t thank me. I am the reason this happened in the first place. I shouldn’t have mentioned what I had done. I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” Jaskier bit his lip. “It wasn’t what you had said. Not completely, at least.” He looked into the flickering flames as well. It was easier than looking at Geralt, when he added “I understand what you went through. With…with the shifter. When I was a prisoner I met one too. One, that looked like you.”

Jaskier risked a glance at Geralt who looked back up at him, his face a stony mask, but Jaskier could see the shock and worry underneath it. Jaskier took a trembling breath. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I stabbed the shifter.” Jaskier gave Geralt a wavering smile that he didn’t return. “So I guess, we are even.” 

The words didn’t have the desired effect, but they were not wasted either. Instead of smiling at Jaskier like he had hoped, Geralt’s fists clenched. 

“You fought a Doppler who looked like me?,” he asked, disbelief and sudden understanding in his voice. 

Jaskier nodded brusquely, but still with the small smile. “And I won. Honestly, I didn’t think I could fight like that, but it had saved my life.”

“I knew you could do it,” Geralt said pride resonating in his voice for some reason, but he didn’t offer an explanation to his words, when Jaskier looked at him in confusion.  
The look of pride that had stolen onto his face vanished quickly. In a heartbeat, Geralt closed off again and clenched his jaw. 

“You still shouldn’t have been forced to go through that. No wonder you are afraid of me.” Gerlat added the last sentence quietly and more to himself.

“I’m not,” Jaskier said firmly. “I was afraid of the shifter and the memory of him. Never of you, not really.” 

Geralt didn’t react. The distance Geralt had put between them so Jaskier wouldn’t fall into another panic became painfully obvious.  
Jaskier swallowed. This was Geralt. The shifter was long gone. He had just told Geralt that he wasn’t afraid of him and it hadn’t been a lie. 

Hesitantly, he scooted over to Geralt who still didn’t move, but Jaskier saw him soften. Carefully, Jaskier reached out and rested his hand on Geralt’s. His heart sped up. This was the first time that Jaskier was the one reaching out for the other. It had always been Geralt who was offering physical contact, while always making sure Jaskier knew he could decline. 

Now, Jaskier could hear Geralt’s breath hitch, as he felt Jaskier’s hand on his, gentle and light enough that Geralt could take his away, if he wanted to. Instead, Geralt interlaced their fingers. It was only a small gesture, but it made Jaskier’s heart speed up and not out of fear or discomfort. This was the first time, Geralt held him without the unspoken uncertainty whether Jaskier would pull away. Jaskier hoped he didn’t imagine the small smile that stole onto Geralt’s face, as Jaskier lightly brushed his thumb over his hand. 

Jaskier broke the silence first. “I think it would be better for both of us, if we didn’t go to that city.” 

He said it like a statement, but he knew that Geralt heard the unspoken plea that hung between them. _Please don’t make me go where the Doppler was. I can’t go there_.

“We don’t have to go there. I know a better place. I think you’ll like this one.” 

As they continued their search, the memories of the shifter surfaced from the back of his mind every once in a while. But with every time that Geralt looked at him softly or gave him one of his rare smiles, the memory lost his power over him. 

The soft rush of the waves rolling onto the shore filled the air. Jaskier closed his eyes as he listened to it and deeply breathed in the salty air. He could feel Geralt’s eyes on him. 

“When were we here together?,” Jaskier asked as the warm ocean breeze blew gently over them. 

“We weren’t.” 

Jaskier opened his eyes again and turned to Geralt.

“Then why are we here? I thought we wanted to find the medium?”

Something passed over Geralt’s face. “We do, but I have only let you down thus far. So I wanted to show you the coast.” 

Jaskier didn’t see the connection. He had lived by the coast for a while and the thought of it had always calmed him down, but what did that have to do with Geralt letting him down? Especially, because Jaskier had never felt less disappointed by someone in his life. 

Yes, they hadn’t found a cure yet. But Jaskier had unexpectedly gained something he hadn’t had in a long time. A friend. And maybe he was foolish, but as he stood next to Geralt who had not left his side in months, who had given him a flower to make him smile and who had held him when he trembled, Jaskier found himself wishing they could be more than friends. 

His heart clenched painfully. It was ridiculous. Judging from the heartbroken songs about the witcher, Geralt hadn’t even liked him that way when he still had his old memories and back then he had known him for decades. How could Jaskier expect that his feelings would be requited when they had only known each other for months and had spent all their time searching for a way to bring back his old self? 

“You are not alone.” Geralt’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Even if you think that you have no one. I am here. And I will stay here for as long as you’ll have me.”

“And I’m here with you, my dear.” There was a slight pause before the endearment. Jaskier didn’t know if it would be unwanted. But as it left his mouth, it just sounded right. 

He glanced at Geralt out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t flinch like he had the first time Jaskier accidently had let an endearment slip past his lips, but Geralt still tensed. Had Jaskier not spent months studying his face, he would not have noticed. Now he saw the slight furrow on his brow and the lips that were pressed together slightly more than usual. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier hastily said. “I shouldn’t have called you that.”

It looked like Geralt forced himself to relax. “No. It’s alright. You can call me that if you want to.” He hesitated. “It’s nice.”

Jaskier’s heart fluttered, but he nodded as if the permission to call Geralt his dear didn’t mean anything. 

Together they stared out at the sea. Their hands brushed. Jaskier held his breath as he reached out a bit more and slipped his hand in Geralt’s. Geralt didn’t pull back. For what felt like an eternity, he didn’t react at all. Then he twisted his hand a bit and held Jaskier’s held tightly, protective and comforting.

“We could just stay here, you know,” Jaskier said eventually. His heart grew heavy, but he couldn’t deny the facts any longer. It was time one of them said it out loud and he knew that Geralt wouldn’t be the one to do so. “Just for a few days. Maybe a week, before we return to Yennefer and Ciri.”

Geralt turned to him sharply. “Return? We are not going back before we have found your memories. I am not going to abandon you.”

“You are not abandoning me. But nothing we have tried has worked. We don’t even know if what we are looking for is a place. The medium could be anything.”

“And we will find it.” Geralt’s voice left no place for argument, but Jaskier defied it. 

“How? Do we even have any other ideas than visiting places we have been before? There is a reason why we haven’t tried anything else yet. We don’t _know_ what else it could be.”

Geralt hesitated. “There is one thing I had thought about for a while.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Geralt looked away and Jaskier could see his jaw work. “Because it would be too much to ask of you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“What is it?,” Jaskier asked and studied Geralt’s face as if it could reveal what Geralt’s silence didn’t.

After a few heartbeats, Geralt said quietly “A kiss.”

Jaskier’s breath hitched. He couldn’t have possibly heard that correctly.  
But it did make sense, didn’t it? He had known for a long time that the Jaskier he had been before had been in love with Geralt. 

He turned to Geralt, searching his face for a sign that he didn’t want Jaskier to do this. Of course, Geralt wouldn’t be the one to initiate the kiss. He only ever _offered_ physical contact. It was Jaskier who had the final say in whether or not he wanted to take it. And by Melitele, he wanted to take up this offer. 

Gently, he rested his free hand on Geralt’s cheek, whose eyes widened almost unnoticeably. Jaskier’s eyes darted to his lips and all hesitation was gone. This would probably be the only chance he ever got at kissing Geralt and he wouldn’t let it go to waste. 

He softly pressed his lips against Geralt’s. The kiss was chaste and sweeter than anything Jaskier could have imagined. Until he realized that Geralt didn’t kiss him back. 

Jaskier pulled back and averted his eyes. How could he have been so foolish to think for even a moment that Geralt would kiss him back? He wanted to pull his hand out of Geralt’s, but Geralt didn’t let go. His grip wasn’t forceful or possessive. It was a reassurance that Geralt was still here. That he wouldn’t let go, even though he didn’t return Jaskier’s feelings.  
Relief flooded through Jaskier and he squeezed Geralt’s hand. 

“It didn’t work, did it?,” Geralt finally said. He sounded resigned, but somehow Jaskier thought – or maybe he just hoped – that Geralt didn’t sound like he regretted letting Jaskier kiss him.

He shook his head. “No, it didn’t.”

Geralt held his hand tighter. When he opened his mouth, for a moment Jaskier was afraid he would apologize. He didn’t think he could bear Geralt being sorry for the kiss. 

“Don’t worry,” Geralt said instead and eased Jaskier’s aching heart, only to replace the ache with worry. “We will find a way to bring you back.” 

“And how long will that take? Another month? Or years? Decades? I don’t want to waste this time chasing shadows.” Jaskier hoped he didn’t sound frustrated, for it wasn’t anger he felt, but a concern that had sat deep within him for weeks now and that finally burst out.  
“You take me to all of those places that should have a special meaning to me. And I really want them to. I wished I remembered, but I can’t. They don’t mean anything to me.” He took a deep breath. “But you mean something to me. A lot.” 

There was no hesitation, not a single heartbeat that passed before Geralt’s answer. “You mean a lot to me too. You as you are now as well as the person you were before.”

Warmth spread through Jaskier’s chest. “Believe me more than anything, I want to know you like I used to, but I am not sure anymore if that is ever going to be possible. And I don’t want to risk that in searching for me, you are losing yourself.”

Geralt didn’t waver. “I promised you I’d keep you safe. I said I would bring you back and I’ll be damned if I didn’t try everything in my power to keep my word.” 

Jaskier gently squeezed his hand. “And you try so hard. I appreciate it and I understand it. But I don’t think it’s doing your heart good. It’s breaking you and I can’t watch that. If we don’t give up, then, please, my dear, just for a few days, take a rest.”

“One more place,” Geralt said in a pressed voice and looked pained, like his heart was breaking. “Let me take you to one more place and I will rest.” 

Jaskier could feel there was more Geralt wanted to say. But he didn’t want to pressure him. He would say it in his own time. 

The sun inched closer to the horizon and painted the sky in beautiful colours. Had he ever watched a sunset with Geralt before? Like this, hand in hand?  
They remained like they were, standing together, looking out onto the sea, until the sun had disappeared completely. 

“I never asked you,” Geralt began. “About what you want. Months ago, you said you wanted your memories back. But in all this time, I had not asked you once if that was still your wish. We had made a promise to each other, years ago. We said that if either of us changed their mind or wasn’t comfortable with something the other did, we could say so. That promise still holds true for me. So, just know if you have changed your mind or ever do, you just have to tell me and we will stop this.”

Jaskier kept quiet. He wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. Though he still wanted to know who he had been, his urgency to do so had long since disappeared.

Somewhere along the way he had forgotten thinking about what he might have been and focussed on the here and now. He had found a friend. As strange as it was to admit, he had fallen in love. Those feelings and those few memories he had created during these past months with Geralt meant the world to him. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them behind. 

But then again, he couldn’t imagine a lifetime in which he wouldn’t fall for Geralt. If he had met him in this other life of his and spent years with him, how could he have not fallen for him? No matter which path he chose, he was sure he wouldn’t lose those precious feelings. 

At the end of the day, it would be Geralt who would get hurt, one way or the other. The question was only, which pain would be easier for him to bear.  
Geralt deserved to get his friend back. He had risked his life to free him. He had spent such a long time searching for his memories. And now he offered Jaskier the choice to break his heart and take his friend away from him forever. Jaskier couldn’t do that to him. Because he loved him. Because he wanted to see him happy.  
But he also couldn’t let Geralt tear himself apart by building up the hope of finding his friend only to have it ripped from him, time and time again. 

Jaskier thought of the bits and pieces of his old life that Yennefer had told him about. He thought of all the places Geralt had taken him to without ever sharing enough information to satisfy Jaskier. He thought of Yennefer and Ciri waiting for him to come home. There were so many things he had sacrificed that he didn’t even know about. 

But he did know one thing. Geralt deserved better than this self-imposed torture. And so did Jaskier. Whoever he had been before, he had deserved better than this. He had deserved to come back to his family. 

“I want to get my memories back. I want whoever I was to be happy.” He hesitated. “But not if it is at the prize of your happiness. We will go to that one last place. But if it doesn’t work, promise me that we will try to become happy like this; as the people we are now. No matter how much I want to go back to who I was, I don’t want to waste the precious time that we have. If this last try proves futile, we will stop looking.” 

The entire way Geralt was eerily quiet. It wasn’t just that he didn’t speak; Jaskier was used to that by now. No, his silence was filled with tension and if Jaskier wasn’t completely mistaken, fear.  
Jaskier felt it too. This was their last attempt. His heart grew heavy. He knew the chances that this time they would be successful, were next to non-existent. 

Nonetheless, he had made his choice. They couldn’t continue like this forever. Geralt didn’t deserve this burden. Whether they would succeed or fail, after today they would stop. He knew it and so did Geralt.  
But there seemed to be more to Geralt’s nervous energy than this. The closer they got to their goal, the more tangible it became. 

For the longest time, Jaskier’s heavy breathing was the only sound, as they climbed up the mountain, until Geralt halted, looking undeceive. 

“What is it?,” Jaskier asked. “We are not setting up camp already, are we? It’s not even close to dusk.” 

“There is a short-cut.” 

Jaskier sighed in relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I am really tired of climbing this stupid mountain.”

“There is one problem though,” Geralt said, contemplating the path. “I know you don’t like heights and the short-cut leads over wooden boards. Other than that, there is only the steep cliff. Last time we were there, some of the boards broke down. I am not sure if they have been repaired since.”

“Excuse me?,” Jaskier’s eyes went wide. “That sounds absolutely terrifying. How on earth did you convinced me to take that short-cut the first time?”

He had a feeling he already knew the answer. If Geralt insisted, then he would go with him. Geralt would keep him safe, after all. 

“It was the fastest way to the Dragon.”

Jaskier must have misheard.

“To the what?” He let out a nervous chuckle. “You slayed him though, didn’t you?”

Geralt didn’t answer. 

“You are not seriously leading me to a Dragon?”

Geralt sighed. “He isn’t dangerous.” 

Although every thinking part of Jaskeir told him to turn back and not risk meeting a Dragon, Jaskier trusted Geralt’s judgement. Between the two of them, Geralt wasn’t the one whose knowledge about monsters only came from stories and exaggerated songs. 

Still, something in his tone didn’t sit right with Jaskier. Geralt looked like he dreaded the moment they’d reach their goal just as much or even more than Jaskier dreaded being eaten by a Dragon. 

“That may be,” Jaskier said. “But that short-cut sure as hell sounds dangerous. I would really rather we take the long way around.”

“Hmm.” 

Geralt still looked grim, but Jaskier could have sworn he sounded relieved at the prospect of taking longer until they got there. 

Jaskier was content with that as well, though the uncertainty gnawed at him. It would only take them another one-day journey, before he would either get back his life or abandon the hope for it, forever. 

When they finally reached the mountaintop the next day, Jaskier stood there in amazement. The view was breath-taking. For a moment, he forgot the reason they were here.

“This place is beautiful. I can understand why it was important to me. Oh, the songs I could write about these views!” 

He turned back to Geralt with a smile. It immediately dropped.  
He could see in Geralt’s eyes that he knew what Jaskier had tried to repress. The last gleam of hope that had been glimmering in them, was gone. Still, Jaskier felt the need to voice it, if only for closure.

“I don’t remember.” Saying the words out loud somehow made them seem more real. His throat restricted and he looked away as the truth of what that meant came crashing down on him. 

Geralt nodded brusquely. He didn’t say anything for a while. Jaskier watched as Geralt took in the mountaintop as if with everything he saw old memories came flooding back. Jaskier wished the same were true for him. 

Geralat’s gaze got stuck on something. He stood as if he was frozen; facing in what seemed to Jaskier a random direction, but with an expression as of infinite regret. 

“The mountain’s beauty isn’t the reason this place is important. You never did write a song about it,” Geralt said in a rough voice.

“Oh.” Jaskier walked over to Geralt and tried find what had Geralt so transfixed, but he saw only rocks and stones. “What then?”

Geralt’s voice was tight and he refused to look at Jaskier. “This is the place of one of the biggest mistakes I ever made. There” he pointed to the entirely unremarkable looking rock “I yelled at you; said things that I didn’t mean but that I still regret to this day. I was furious and you were the one who had to pay the price for it, though it was no fault of yours. I didn’t even realize the severity of what I had done until I found out what it had done to you.”

Jaskier rounded Geralt and blocked his view. “Look at me. Whatever you did that day, I am here, am I not?” He saw the ache in Geralt’s eyes. “I am,” he repeated more firmly. “I am here and I forgive you now, as I am sure I did before.” 

If only he remembered. Though he meant what he had said, his words left a hollow feeling in him. He was speaking on the behalf of someone who was a stranger to him. 

Jaskier flinched violently, when a voice behind him called out to him. 

“You are back. But you are not.” 

Jaskier whirled around, but his tension ebbed away, when his eyes fell on the man who had spoken. He couldn’t be a threat, old and unarmed as he was. Jaskier was startled, when Geralt‘s frown deepened and he pushed Jaskier behind him protectively. 

“We are not here to talk to you, Borch,” he growled. 

Borch lowered his head in acknowledgement. “And yet, you are here to do what I told you the last time, are you not?”

Jaskier peeked at the man form behind Geralt. 

“What does he mean?,” he asked Geralt quietly. 

Geralt became rigid. He ignored Jaskier’s question and instead answered Borch. 

“I am not,” Geralt said, like he was admitting defeat. “I tried. But not anymore.”

Borch’s expression didn’t change as he addressed Jaskier. “And what about you, Jaskier? Do you think a false life is more important than a real one?”

Jaskier froze. “Wh-what do you know about that?,” he sputtered. “Geralt, what does he mean when he says that he told you about this? How does he know?”

“He knows because he is the Dragon.”

Jaskier was too shocked to react. This man looked about as far from a Dragon as he could imagine. How could he be the majestic creature the old legends spoke of? It was ridiculous!  
But he had known about Jaskier’s old life, hadn’t he? 

Geralt continued through clenched teeth. “He told me that a meaningful past shouldn’t be thrown away.” Geralt turned his head slightly towards Jaskier, though he didn’t drop his defensive posture. “I thought… I had always thought he had been talking about Yennefer.” Borch came closer and Geralt shifted his position and shot the other man a warning look. “But it doesn’t matter. This is not my choice. Jaskier has made his decision and I am going to honour it.”

“Are you sure that is wise?,” Borch asked slowly. 

“I don’t care if it’s wise. It is the right thing to do. This is about Jaskier’s life, not mine.”

But it was. The whole point why Jaskier had made his choice the way he had, was because he couldn’t watch Geralt throw away his own life like that. 

Borch inclined his head. “If that is what you think, then there is nothing more I can say to you. I had hoped to spare you your pain.” 

So had Jaskier. As they watched in silence as Borch turned away from them and went out of sight, he wondered whether he had made the right decision for what must have been the hundredth time. But he would stand by it.  
Jaskier wasn’t that special. In the grand scheme of things, he wasn’t important and he doubted he had ever been, even in his old life. Geralt’s pain would go away eventually. At least Jaskier hoped so. As he glanced at Geralt standing there motionless with slumped shoulders after Borch had retreated, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. Geralt looked like he had just lost a part of himself and as much as Jaskier wanted to give it back to him, he knew, he couldn’t.

They didn’t speak on their way down the mountain. They could have just teleported back to the hide-out, but somehow that didn’t feel right. They had spent all this time travelling together, it seemed only fitting that they would at least make it down this mountain. It was a fitting conclusion to the months of walking. And it gave them time to come to grips with what this meant for them.

Months of searching for the medium had been for naught. But Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to think of them as wasted. He might not have been able to get his old life back, but he had gotten new, precious memories. 

They set up camp for the night in the same place they had camped before, but Jaskier didn’t feel like sleeping. This was the last night he would spend with Geralt like this before they would leave this journey behind for good. 

Jaskier sat on a stone and soaked in the darkening sky. Geralt joined him. They sat so close their thighs were touching. 

Jaskier didn’t want to break this silence, but there was something he had to know. 

“It seems like such a long time ago, but before I decided that I wanted to get my memory back, I had asked you about my old life. You never answered me.” He lowered his head. “But now, that I won’t regain my memories, I would like to know what it is I am leaving behind. The things you said about the places we visited, they were not enough. I need to know more. My memories…were they good ones?” His hand found Geralt’s and rested atop of it. “Could you tell me about them?”

Geralt made a strangled sound. “I don’t think I could do your life justice. You always told me I was too sparse with the details. And it is exactly the details that are important here. I would tell your story wrong.”

Jaskier shifted, so he could look at Geralt. “I believe you are the only person who could tell it right.” 

Geralt hesitated while he was searching for the right words to begin. When he finally found them, Jaskier listened enraptured. It was obvious that Geralt wasn’t a storyteller, but every word he spoke sounded earnest and had a weight behind it.  
That life that he described, it sounded hard and dangerous and full of heartbreak and it sounded _wonderful_. It was everything Jaskier could have had, if he hadn’t been too scared to approach the brooding man in Posada all those years ago.  
And he hadn’t been scared. That version of him that Geralt knew had been brave and he had seen wonders that Jaskier now couldn’t even imagine. The way Geralt spoke of these things… it sent a longing through Jaskier, unlike any he had felt before. His voice was rough and so full of emotion.  
For Geralt this wasn’t just a story. It was a memorial for his best friend. Jaskier heard the heartbreak in every single one of Geralt’s words. 

Silence settled over them again and this time it was full of unshed tears and grief. Both of them mourned for the Jaskier that wasn’t anymore. 

The silence became too much. The person Geralt had spoken of didn’t deserve this silence. He wouldn’t have wanted it.

Jaskier hesitated as he took the lute Geralt had gifted him from off his back. He hadn’t played on it often and when he had, it had only been to feel the familiar motions of his fingers against the strings. It hadn’t been any meaningful music. Not like it was now. 

Jaskier didn’t know any mourning songs. As far as he remembered, he had only ever sung of hope and courage to endure the war. Those battle songs wouldn’t do. This was not a battle. They had stopped fighting. No, he couldn’t play any of his new songs. But using a song he had written in this old life that wasn’t his anymore felt wrong as well. 

There was only one song he knew that didn’t seem out of place.  
His fingers hovered over the strings in hesitation. This had always been _his_ song. More people than he would have ever wanted to, had heard him sing it. But if anyone was worth witnessing this part of him, it was Geralt. Maybe Geralt needed this song too. To feel that he wasn’t alone. To know that although the old Jaskier was gone, the new one was right here, next to him, where he would stray until there were no more songs left in the world.

Jaskier could feel Geralt’s eyes on him, as he began plucking the strings and humming softly.  
This song had no words. It didn’t need any. The tune alone had always been enough to give him strength during his darkest times. He had screamed it at Cahir and had whimpered it to himself when he was to hurt to sing anymore. It had filled his silent and dark cell with hope and pushed him through his pain again and again. 

His song was interrupted by a pained noise that came from the back of Geralt’s throat.  
Jaskier stopped and looked at Geralt in worry. 

“There are no nightmares you can chase away with your lullaby now, Jaskier,” Gerlat said in a strangled voice. “Don’t sing this song. Not like this. Not without the words.”

“There are no words. It has only ever been like this.” Jaskier picked up the melody where he had left off. For some reason, it felt important that he would finish it. 

But this time, he didn’t carry the melody on his own with his hum. Geralt, with his voice that was broken by his pain and unused to song, joined in. 

“When images of times of dread  
Keep haunting you when you’re awake  
I sing to you ‘come rest your head.  
Forget your woes and your mistakes.’ “

Geralt didn’t sing the melody correctly, hitting the wrong notes, but he gave Jaskier the words to a lullaby long forgotten and yet branded into his mind at the same time.

“Now leave behind your memory.  
In dreams I will remain with you  
And hope that you remember me  
When you forget and start a-new.” 

He had never heard those words before and yet they filled Jaskier with a sense of rightness, as if they had always belonged to this song and had only been lost to him.  
It was as if he had always listened to the song though the noise of a crowd until he had forgotten that there were words to it. Only now, that the world around him had quieted and Geralt reminded him that there were words, was Jaskier beginning to see them. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew they belonged to the song, though they still were too far away to grasp. 

“Dream up a kind and bright new life  
And listen, dearest, to my song.  
I’m here with you to keep you safe  
For by your side I do belong.”

His fingers stilled on his lute and then it wasn’t just Geralt who sang the words. As they reached the last lines, the words were as clear in Jaskier’s head as the day he had first written them, inspired by a siren and meant to comfort his best friend.

“And when you wake up you will see  
That you are safe, you’re here with me.” 

Jaskier’s voice broke off and his eyes went wide as he stared at Geralt; The man he had seen sitting in a corner by himself, looking as if he would punch Jaskier in the face if he came any closer.  
And yet Jaskier had approached him. Time and time again, he had approached this witcher who slowly but surely had turned into _his_ witcher. 

Tears welled up in Jaskier’s eyes.  
Geralt shot him a worried look. “Are you alright?”

Geralt didn’t understand. He didn’t see the memories that came flooding back to Jaskier like a river that had broken through its dam. They crashed against the memories he had lived with for so many years and drowned them. He remembered. Tears streamed down his face. He had his life back! His family was safe and Geralt had come for him and saved him! 

Through his tears, he saw Geralt leave the stone they were sitting on. He went down on his knees before Jaskier. 

“Jaskier, look at me, what is wrong?”

Nothing. Nothing was wrong. He finally had what he had longed for for years. 

He remembered kissing Geralt goodbye and spending his last moments thinking he would never see him again. He remembered looking over the coast that Yennefer had taken him to and remembering the siren who had sung away her pain. And he had thought of the song he had sung so chase away his beloved’s nightmares, that he would now never sing to him again.  
It had been the last thought he had had before he had forgotten about his love. And the song had been the one thing that had stayed with him when he had opened his eyes again, thinking he had always been on his own. 

“Geralt.” 

It was the only thing he could get out between the sobs. 

“I’m here, Jaskier, what do you need?” Geralt took Jaskier’s hands in his. He looked so helpless. Jaskier slid down from the rock and buried his head in Geralt’s chest. Choked laughter bubbled up between Jaskier’s sobs.

“I’m back. I’m home, dearest.”

The words didn’t come out right. They were muffled by Geralt’s chest and he had lost all control over his voice. There was too much he needed to say, but these words were all he got out. Over and over again.

Geralt let go of his hands and held him close. He stroked through Jaskier’s hair.

“It’s going to be alright,” Geralt said in his soothing voice “I promise. I am here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Geralt didn’t understand! Jaskier knew he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Not ever again. He was _home_. Even after his tears had dried up, he repeated those words; needed Geralt to understand them. 

“I’m home, my love.” 

Geralt’s arms tensed around him. Ever so slowly, he pulled back until he could look Jaskier in the eyes. Fear was written all over Geralt’s face and a hope that Jaskier knew he didn’t dare pursue. 

“What did you say?” Geralt’s voice was but a breath. 

“I said I’m home.”

“You called me your love.” The hope in Gerlat’s eyes burned brighter. It was almost enough to banish the pain and fear. “You never called me that. Never, except for the day you left. Please, Jaskier, tell me it’s you.” 

“It’s me.”

“My little lark.” Geralt didn’t give Jaskier time to react. He pulled him towards him again and slung his arms around Jaskier. He held him closer than before, as if he was afraid Jaskier would disappear, if he didn’t feel his heartbeat against his chest. Geralt pressed his face into Jaskier’s hair. “I missed you. I missed you so much.”

“You came for me,” Jaskier whispered. He leaned back. Geralt let him, but he immediately took his hands in his, not risking breaking the contact. “Why didn’t you give up? Why, my love, after everything, did you put yourself through that?”

“Because when you left, you didn’t give me the time to answer you. I had wasted all this time not telling you. What more were some years waiting for you, if it meant I finally get to tell you now.”

With every word he got closer, until there was barely any space left between them. Jaskier could feel his breath on his lips. 

“What? What do you want to tell me?,” he whispered. 

“I love you. More than you could ever know.” 

Jaskier didn’t wait for Geralt to say more. He had never thought he would hear these words from him. Geralt was right. They had wasted too much time already. 

He closed the distance between them. The kiss was gentle and sweet. It didn’t last long, but it held years of yearning and love. And this time, Geralt returned it. His hands went to Jaskier’s cheek and tenderly held him close. Jaskier smiled into the kiss.

He had finally found his home. 

**A year after becoming everything to each other**

Jaskier leaned his head against Geralt’s shoulder and instinctively Geralt laid an arm around him.  
They sat outside the cottage and watched how Yennefer was instructing Ciri one last time on her magic. Sometimes Geralt still forgot how powerful their daughter truly was. She was far from the helpless child he had found in the woods. 

“Do you really think it’s safe?,” Jaskier asked quietly. Geralt hummed and Jaskier relaxed against him. “You are right, my love. It’s time.”

The thought spiked up Geralt’s nerves. They had talked about this often enough, but sometimes he still felt doubt creep up on him. He didn’t want to risk losing Jaskier again and the years of hiding Ciri from Nilfgaard had left their marks.  
But beneath his worries, he knew that this was the right decision. They had stayed hidden from the world for too long. Tomorrow they would leave their hide-out behind and try to rebuilt the life they had once had. It wouldn’t be easy, but Geralt knew that it would be worth it. Jaskier would be able to perform for an audience again, as he was supposed to. And Ciri would finally see the world again, after being kept from it for years. 

The decision hadn’t been easy. While Geralt had helped Jaskier figure out who he was, now that he had two sets of memories, Yennefer had visited the outside world. When she had come back the last time, Geralt had known from the look on her face that it was time.  
Nilfgaard’s fruitless attempts to get to Ciri had finally given the opposing forces the opportunity to rally and strike back. After years of fear and destruction, the war was finally over. 

Gerlat knew that they would return to a world of chaos. Life wouldn’t be as it once had been, but it would be a start. It was safe. Jaskier was back and Ciri had gotten strong enough to face the world again. And her family would be there by her side when she did. 

He let his gaze wander across this place they had called their home for so long. 

“We can always come back here,” Geralt said and Jaskier turned his head slightly, so he could look at him. 

“I know. But I don’t think we have to. It’s like last time. I am terrified of what might happen, but I want to get back out. It will be fine at the end.”

Geralt tightens his arm around him. “You don’t need to be afraid. I am with you.”

“I know.” Jaskier smiled at him and calm settled over Geralt. “And I love you for it.”

He said it so often. Whenever Geralt did something that made him smile, or when Jaskier saw something bothering Geralt, he would turn to him and tell him those precious words. It was as if he was making up for lost time. 

Geralt didn’t say it back. Not yet.  
Not until they were alone again, without Yennefer and Ciri. He wanted it to be just Jaskier and him when he said it. 

It was only as they went to bed for the night and Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s chest to feel his heartbeat, that Geralt said it. 

“I love you, too.” 

The words came not even close to what he felt. Jaskier was his best friend, his beloved, his _everything_. How could those simple words whispered in the dark of their room ever be enough for that? 

But they were enough, always. Because it was Jaskier, who they were meant for. Jaskier knew what he really wanted to say, because he felt it too.

Geralt could feel Jaskier smile against him, as he did every night and every morning when Geralt told him how much he meant to him. 

Geralt lifted his hand and gently passed it through Jaskier’s hair. It was short again. A visual reminder that Jaskier had truly come back for him. He remembered watching as Ciri had cut it. With every strand of the long hair that fell to the floor, Jaskier’s smile had become brighter and Geralt’s heart had become warmer. Seeing Jaskier look like himself again and feeling the short tresses as he passed his fingers through them now, calmed him more than he would have thought. 

Jaskier sighed contently and snuggled closer.  
Geralt listened to his breathing. It didn’t slow down. Like himself, Jaskier didn’t fall asleep. Not this night. Too much was going to change in the morning. This was the last night, they would spend like this, in their safe haven. Geralt wanted to make every moment last. 

He embraced Jaskier and pulled him closer, comforting him without words.  
This wasn’t the first night they spent like this.  
Over the past year, Geralt often found himself waking in the middle of the night, of fear that he would find Jaskier gone and lost to him again. But his beloved would always be there, right next to him, snuggled into his pillow and safe. And when Jaskier woke up to see Geralt watching him like this, he would stroke Geralt’s hair and hum his lullaby to him.  
Geralt still remembered the first time Jaskier had comforted him in the night like this. The words he had said then, had stayed with him even now. 

“I could never leave you for good. Even when I didn’t know you, I fell for you. I don’t think I could ever not love you.” 

Since then, Jaskier had not repeated those words. They were a secret he had shared only once and Geralt treasured it. It was a rare glimpse at the memories of the other Jaskier, that still lived somewhere within him. 

Sometimes it wasn’t Geralt whose night was riddled with fear. Jaskier often jumped awake, sweating and panting from the after-images of a nightmare. Geralt would listen to him speak in a hushed voice of what Cahir had done to him.  
And every time he would tell Jaskier that he was safe now and that Geralt would always come for him. He never said it in so many words, but Jaskier understood the way Geralt held him protectively and wiped his tears away. 

This night there were no nightmares. But the worries were still there. The uncertainty of what the future would bring filled the silence, but they didn’t need words for comfort.  
Like so many nights before, they just held each other in an embrace, assuring the other with their presence that they were there for them; that they loved them. 

The chaos might not be over yet. They would return to a broken life. But it would get better. They would figure it out and make it good in their own time. They didn’t need to heal and be perfect immediately. Now, they had all the time in the world. And they weren’t going to waste a single moment more on doubts.

Tomorrow they would face what awaited them outside, but for now, they just held each other close, knowing that whatever the next day would bring, they would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh the more I wrote, the more I thought it would be more fitting if Jaskier didn't get his memories back. So I would really love to know whether you think so as well (hopefully you were not too disappointed by this ending though). Either way, I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> I once again think I put in more angst in here than comfort. Sorry to those who wanted more comfort, but whenever I tried to write it, it felt somehow wrong and I kind of prefer writing angst (even if I don't mean to). 
> 
> I don't know anything about poetry, except I kind of technically know how sonnets are structured, so that's what I made Jaskier's lullaby. Though I certainly am no musician, I also wrote a melody for it, but I suck with technology, so I don't know if this works, but if anyone is interested, here is the link: [ Jaskier's Lullaby](https://soundcloud.com/user-639661513-491045387/lullaby).
> 
> Last but not least, I can't thank you all enough for reading this fic! Whether you have commented, left kudos or are "just" a reader, I appreciate you all so much!


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